


Salvation

by Monkeeshines (quentillian)



Series: Monkeeshines World of A-Team Greatness [1]
Category: The A-Team (TV)
Genre: Vietnam War
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-03-11
Updated: 2016-07-06
Packaged: 2018-05-26 01:49:40
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 30
Words: 116,512
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6218824
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/quentillian/pseuds/Monkeeshines
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Face and Murdock have a bond that goes well beyond the struggles of war. At first glance Face is the picture of refined stature, but was it always that way? How far down did he fall before his appreciation for the finer things in life blossomed? Murdock has always danced a fine line with sanity. When Face pushes, how long can Murdock hang on? How deep does Team run?</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Prologue

**Author's Note:**

> This book takes place during the Vietnam war. There are depictions of war time violence and other dark themes throughout. This book is rated Mature for a reason. If you would like a more detailed list of why this book has the rating it does send us a message, we'll gladly let you know.
> 
> Our goal is character exploration, we often break a character down or see if we can get them to do something otherwise considered out of character, and justify it through a sequence of events. How does it effect the character and those around them? How do they find their core again? The goal is to always get them back to the characters that we grew to love in the canon of the show.
> 
> We are very open to feedback and can be reached on aim. There is a chatroom called tat that we generally hang out in for group conversation. I can also be reached personally under the screen name quentillian or quentillian@yahoo.com (depending which one is working at the time). Everyone is welcome. It's a great place to meet like minded people who love the show.

**Prologue**

Fall 1969 - Lake Isabella, California

 

Face pushed himself up off of the sagging mattress that was all this fleabag, middle-of-nowhere cabin had to offer. Fucking Murdock standing there, that crazy fucking smile that wouldn't shut the hell up. Apparently it was his turn to watch Face while Hannibal slipped out the front to do whatever the hell he pleased. Must be nice. Fuckers. No, Face was done. The both of them could take their self-righteous bullshit and get the hell out of his life.

"Funny ain't it?"

"Shut up, you asshole." Whatever Murdock had to say, Face didn't want to hear it. He took an unsteady step toward the lanky pilot, jaw clenched, chapped upper lip curled. Murdock, the fuck, looked at him. Silent and judging, because everything wasn't already fucked up enough.

Face's whole body hurt, tight and tense with anger, and not a damn thing he could do. He was stuck. There was no making it stop and no making it go away. He'd tried everything he could think of to get out of here and it had gotten him nowhere. Face was more sober than he'd been in months. He could feel those damn spectres creeping up on him, hear the desperation in their voices, see the pleas in their eyes. They'd haunted his every waking moment since he'd come back "home" and found himself a foreigner. Soon enough, they'd be dogging his reality as though they'd never left. And Murdock - Murdock, of all people! - had no damn right to force that on him. "Fuck you." There was no getting away from Murdock in this place; twenty by twenty square feet of hell.

"Why?" Murdock asked, all calm and casual like he was at a fucking church social. Fuck him.

Face spun back around. He shouldn't have. A small part of his brain that was in control of nothing knew that it was pointless. "Why what?"

"Why should I fuck off? Why don't you wanna sober up and be something?"

That was rich. "Tell me Murdock, what the hell am I supposed to be?" His voice was low, teeth clenched. He fucking hated everything about Murdock.

"Real."

He hated that answer so much he laughed. "Real? You want me to be real? A real fucking soldier? A real fucking yes sir, how high sir, burn 'em down sir? Or is it a different real? A real fucking liar? A real snitch, murderer, rapist?" He was getting more and more insistent and he couldn't stop or even figure out why. He wanted to shove Murdock away from him; out of this cabin and out of his life. "A real what Murdock?"

"A real person." Fucker said that like it made sense.

"I'm all of those things you fucking moron. That's the real person I am and I fucking hate it!" Why couldn't he just get it? Instead, no. Murdock had to stand there reading and judging Face, like he had a right.

"I love Real Face." Why the fuck did he sound sad about that?

"Nobody loves the real Face!"

"I do. Gave up my wings and all. They don't matter if you ain't real. I gotta find you and keep the others away."

"What others?"

The slightest of movements flickered in Face's peripheral vision, but he couldn't turn away from that very wrong look on Murdock's face. It wasn't fight or flight, not even anger or disappointment. He didn't get a chance to sift through his addled brain to place it before Murdock started up again, too calm and too quiet, and with a weird little smile clinging to his lips.

It was a creepy fucking smile.

Murdock's eyes never left Face's. "Trace, Roberts, Michele, Dombrowski. Some with names and the ones without names. I see a little girl crying. I can feel all this blood sliding through my fingers. I see bodies. Carved up, butchered bodies. Wholesale slaughter. The work of a monster, Face. And I know it's me. I'm the monster. Killing and hacking, and it felt so good."

For a second Face could've sworn Murdock was looking straight through him. Straight into the past, right back to that fucking place Face shot up to forget. It was skeletons and monsters, their bodies and ghosts. Face could see it plain as day in Murdock's eyes, like he was looking in the mirror. It had him pinned to the ground as stone cold and dead still as Michelangelo's Pieta.

Murdock closed his eyes and leaned his head back against the wall, breathing slow and deep. His own breath was sharp, rushing in and out with an anxiety Face couldn't place until his searching eyes caught on the gun in Murdock's hand. The pilot's eyes opened and drifted to the weapon. His knuckles turned white around the grip.

"I made a promise Face."

For a moment, Face wasn't in the shitty cabin. He was in the jungle, the humidity thick enough to smother him, the ground firm and wet beneath his knees, the coppery stench of blood in his nostrils.

"I need to know, to be sure," Murdock said, slow and worn. In another place, Face might have wondered how many times Murdock had said these words without ever saying them. "Are we done fighting? Did the monsters win?"

_Did you fail?_

Laughter bubbled up from Face, loud and harsh, it cut out as quick as it had burst forth. " _Look_ at me, you stupid fuck!" He yelled. "I'm barely hanging on. I'm so doped up most of the time I can't feel anything, but I've got those monsters all figured out. I know how to lock them out." He threw his arms out towards Murdock in case the man needed another look at the track marks lining his veins. "Every time I take a fucking hit they're right back where they belong. Is that what you want to hear? Is it?" Spit flew from Face's lips, but Murdock didn't react, he never even blinked.

"Or is it that I don't know what to do anymore, is that it? How about the fact that the moment Diz shot me up was the first time in months I felt anywhere near relaxed? That while I was high, those voices finally stopped screaming in my ears and I could close my eyes without seeing it all again?"

Fuck. Here he was,now, seeing it all again, because Murdock wanted him to feel. Because Murdock never could leave well enough alone. And Hannibal. Face couldn't even go there. "Yeah, Murdock they won." He finally said it. "They fucking won and are doing a victory lap around my life and I've got nothing left."

Murdock had the cool barrel of a service revolver hard and unforgiving pressed under Face's chin. Face's breath caught as Murdock stepped in close, eyes going dim and lifeless while Murdock stood there, silent, looking through Face. Tears rolled down Murdock's cheeks.

For a moment, Face didn't know why Murdock was crying. It wasn't Murdock's life Face had turned upside down. It wasn't Face blocking Murdock from getting to the door. It wasn't Face holding a gun under Murdock's chin, waiting for the word to pull the trigger. But maybe it should have been.

Suddenly, it was obvious. It was Sunshine, young and lifeless, blank eyes staring up at him from the mud. It was Murdock, horrified and broken, skittering backward while blood mixed with tears. It was Face, sitting, helpless to do anything but watch as his best friend was taken apart. It was guilt and pain and being stuck, alone, at the mercy of everything and everyone who wanted to take them apart. It was Davies and Thomas and blood slicked children. It was Vietnamese begging and pleading for lives he couldn't save. It was their souls dying with one last agonizing cry.

It was the end.

"Do it." Face's voice didn't sound like his. He couldn't remember making the decision to speak, but the words fell between them, hollow and distant, betraying his secrets. "I can't beat this. You know that. That's why you're here, right? You've seen it."

"I'm here because Face is my best friend, and because I made a promise." Murdock nodded fractionally as he spoke; confirmation, agreement, and lifeline, all in one. Nothing he said was louder than the click of the hammer cocking back. "I'm sorry for letting the monsters get you."

Face closed his eyes. Tears he hadn't expected warmed streaks down his cheeks as his body shook.

"See you on the other side," Murdock's voice was low and choked.

That was it. It would only hurt for a moment, and then everything would be gone. Face wasn't expecting Murdock to add, "God forgive me", but he did.

His words echoed off the walls of heaven and earth, reaching from the caverns of hell to God's almighty ear. It was a moment that hung in the air and lasted a lifetime making it all too clear. There would be no forgiveness. Not for Murdock. No amount of rosaries to undo the bullet that was about to go through Face's brain and put an end to the misery. Murdock wouldn't miss. Murdock would pay his price. Face would finally find solace, at Murdock's expense. There would be no peace for him. Ever.

Murdock pulled the trigger.

 


	2. Chapter One

**Vietnam June 1969**

 

"Down!"

The hissed command registered about the same moment as the screaming whistle of the mortar. Face hugged the nearest treeline and hit the ground. BA did the same in front of him, M16 held ready. Always. Face ducked his head against the debris pelting down around him, taking it on his back, on the top of his helmet, something trickling past the neck of his BDU.

He hit the dirt as the earth rumbled beneath him again and struggled to keep his helmet on as another grenade went off. More debris rained down like a monsoon, heavy as a thick blanket dropped over him, too thick and fast to see through. Beside him, Hannibal fired off a short burst through the trees. Squinting and wiping mud from his eyes, Face got his elbows under him and shuffled into a better position to return fire.

"North twelve degrees, forty minutes, twelve seconds! East one hundred eighty degrees, three minutes zero seconds! Sandy's coming behind him." BA was yelling, briefly audible over the explosion that went off almost fifty yards too far to the left.

"Landing zone hot!"

Even over the constant exchange of fire, Face heard the dry click of Cruiser's rifle and the staff sergeant growling. "Fuck, Colonel. What happened to this exit strategy of yours?"

"Keep your shorts on, Cruiser." Hannibal exchanged nods with BA as the corporal slammed the radio phone down before looking back at Cruiser. Even covered in mud and dirt clods in the pouring down rain, Hannibal had the audacity to smile all bright eyed and suicide cocky. "Have a little faith."

"Faith?" Cruiser shouted back, hand wrapped around a grenade. "I'm a goddamned devotee!" He hurled the grenade up, over the wall of dirt and mud into the field where those bastard gooks were, not even bothering to see if he managed to take any of them out.

"How about you guys have faith." Face snarked, taking a second to aim at the spot where he'd seen a hint of a flash. Sniper. And one clip left; not the time to be sloppy. Now was the time to breath. To force the chaos raining down around him out until he couldn't hear it, couldn't see it, couldn't _smell_ it. And just _breath_. Timing the shot in the lull between breaths, Face pulled the trigger. Allowing himself a second to gloat when the bullet hit home and limp body fell from the trees like a busted pinata. It was Face's turn to smile at Hannibal. "I'd rather have a chopper"

Right on cue BA slid to his knees next to Hannibal. "He three minutes out and he's comin' in looking for smoke!"

Three minutes. For a moment Face remembered when three minutes seemed to go by in the blink of an eye. When he'd been feeling up Martha Stecken in the coat closet, the hours he'd spent on the sand dunes overlooking the Pacific. Even the unending sermons on uncomfortable pews made three minutes seem like a tick of the second hand.

Now, in the middle of a noname rice paddy, in nowhere fucking Vietnam with the VC army trying to shoot their heads off, just minutes away from being overrun by Charlie, you could live and die several lifetimes in a whole hundred and eighty of those simple second hand ticks. And it left him with nothing but a far off sense of calm seeping into his core.

No regrets.

"That's a great fucking plan!" Cruiser snapped. "Everyone and their goddamned mother is looking for smoke out here."

"That's why I have a _plan_."

BA, and Cruiser groaned in unison. Was it wrong that he was more worried about the sudden shit eating grin that split Hannibal's face then he was about the VC?

Hannibal checked his ammo belt, only two clips. "Hey kid, remember the latrine scam you pulled on Lieutenant O'Rourke in Bravo company?"

"With the bubbles and the stink bomb?" Of course he did. The divide, divert, and attack was a classic. But the hell of a lot of good that did them way out here in the paddy's up to their nipples in gooks.

"Good." Hannibal didn't elaborate like Face would have wanted. No. His grin just extended from cocky to extreme as he tossed one of the clips to Face. "Dig in and hold them back for sixty seconds. Then sit tight 'til Murdock gets here." The smile was gone and stone cold command was in its place. "I've gotta go pop some smoke."

"Ah-" Face started to protest, to push himself up off the dirt and demand clarification. But before he had time to argue Hannibal was gone and Charlie was raining down his wrath with another mortar round.

"Great." Face slammed the fresh clip into his rifle, index finger sliding home next to the trigger, right where it belonged. Already beginning an internal count to sixty. Then Murdock. Then they were home free.

*****

Sweat and rain running down his neck and back, BA didn't move. Hannibal said dig in and wait. So that's what they were doing. Kneeling in mud that went up to his thighs, bugs that thought he was a lunch buffet, snakes, bombs, and to top it all off, he was waiting for a flying metal death trap; even the damn weather was trying to kill them.

Better than Chicago. One step in the wrong place there and you end up dead. Least here he wasn't alone. Even if he didn't know where Hannibal was or have a clue what the colonel was off doing or what his plan was, it didn't matter. Simple fact was he didn't need to know. He knew the end game. The rest didn't matter. Hannibal would come up with something. They would do it.

Simple.

He wasn't expecting the sudden cutting explosion of an M16 from the other end of the LZ. Hannibal. No question about it. And it made sense in a crazy kind of backwards way. Charlie was gonna go running for him, swarm the position. Before his thoughts finished and with barely a pause in the shooting, red smoke billowed up from where Hannibal had to be.

Every gook in the area would have that spot in their sites. Hannibal and his one man army was a sitting duck. His jive plan better be real good.

"BA!" Face's yell had BA ducking and twisting towards him. BA didn't get a chance to ask what. Face was looking at him with one of those rare, real looks.

"Tell Murdock to land on the south end of the LZ." BA stared at Face. South end? That's where they was at. Cliffs on one side, a steep drop on the other, and the rest surrounded by grass, trees, and VC. Ain't no sane pilot gonna make that landing. And it was dead opposite of where Hannibal popped smoke. Didn't make no sense.

"Trust. _Me_."

Maybe it was the look, or the way he was almost begging, more likely it was the fact Face had earned that trust, either way BA nodded and made the call.

Murdock's voice crackled and snapped over the line. "Roger that."

BA shook his head, dropping the radio back in the pack. Murdock didn't ask any questions. It didn't matter if he had told the fool to land in a lava pit. What the team asked, Murdock did. No questions. Now, all BA had to do was trust that he could get them out of here without killing them all in a fiery crash. Truth was, Murdock was the only fool pilot BA did trust to get them out alive.

Good thing too, 'cause once he got out of Vietnam, BA Baracus was never flying again.

Like Murdock could read BA's thoughts, the steady _thump thump_ of a Huey sounded over the battlefield snap, crackle, pop, and kabooms. It was the sweetest music any grunt could ever hear. Like a hawk dropping in for the kill, Murdock's chopper swept in over the tree line. Wouldn't have much time. Less than a minute. If they were lucky, and this mission they'd been anything but. Charlie knew they'd been tricked.

"Move out!" Face yelled above the din, not waiting for Murdock to bring the wobbly chopper to the ground. Huey still buffering in the wind, they were moving, in an order more basic to the unit than their heartbeat; Ray and Cruiser on point, BA and Face brought up the rear at a six second count. BA was running towards chopper in a low hunch, Face behind him, rifle at the ready, surveying the treeline for any threats. It was just a second before BA stopped to turn, taking over rear guard so Face could leap from him that BA saw it. That thing those flying beasts always did that he hated so much. As Ray and Cruiser jumped onto the skids - it bounced and swayed under their weight for one terrifying second before Murdock steadied it out.

Swallowing the fear before it could bubble up and take more of a stronghold than the entire VC army that was going to be knocking on their doorstep with parting gifts of shrapnel and bullet holes, BA let his training take over. Face leap frogged, and then it was nothing but BA running and the gunner keeping a watchful eye on that haunted treeline and he was in. Safe and sound, heart pounding in his ears louder than the _thumping_ of the rotors, with the rest of them in a flying coffin.

Hannibal.

Murdock was already gaining altitude, trying to get the chopper out of danger. The ground was clear and it was time to go. But they were a man light. Face was scrambling over to a crewman, grabbing at the spare headset.

The big 50 cal was roaring, trying to keep the VC from getting the rockets and mortars aimed at the chopper. Combined with the engine and rotor noise there was no way to hear what was going on. Cruiser and Ray sent him hard questioning frowns, but he had no answers. Instead he was relegated to watching a quick, frantically animated conversation that he couldn't hear, with them. It wasn't until Face tossed the head set aside and scrambled to the storage box where the McGuire rigs were that he knew what was going on.

Shit.

BA had the most time and experience in the rigs. That was part of the reason why he hated flying. Spend some time as a sitting duck dangling from a wire, while snipers take aim and pilots smacked you into trees and it didn't take you too long to learn to hate the things.

But if someone needed to go in a rig to get Hannibal, BA was the logical choice. Dropping his hand on Face's shoulder, he got the younger man's attention. For a second it was just the two of them looking at each other. Face's eyes burning with a cold, hard, edge that was shocking to see, if you didn't know him. It was a look that let you know where Face's true loyalties lie.

Finally, Face nodded and handed him a rig. BA was hooking it on, stance wide to keep his balance as Murdock threw the chopper around in sharp zigs and zags, keeping them from being shot out of the sky. They were coming back around to the tree line to the East of where Hannibal had popped smoke. If he had gone this way, there was only one place he could be. The trees.

Between the rain and the wind alone there was no way anyone would survive a trip on the rig into the chopper, not to mention when under this much heavy fire.

Unless.

Just as he was adjusting the last strap, Face put a hand on his chest, giving him the 'in a minute sign'. Murdock was struggling to hold position as Face dropped an empty rig over the side, into the trees. Someone had it and was strapping in, just as all hell broke loose on either side of them.

Flames and a fireball of heat and light shook the ground and came rushing up towards the chopper. The entire world within a few miles shaking under the rapport.

The Sandy's - air support on a bombing run. Hannibal had to have called it in, Murdock must have known it was close. And the chaos it left was going to be their only chance to get Hannibal in.

It would have worked too. But Hannibal caught something - a bullet, shrapnel - _something_ that had him twisting in on the wire and flipping back, twisting, and ending up upside down with the harness half dangling off.

BA was never quite sure how he got there, but seconds later, he was dangling outside the chopper, dropping as fast as he could, ignoring that sickening feeling of freefalling.

He could see Hannibal. Letting his weight shift like a child pumping their legs on a playground swing, BA created torsion. Enough to have him swinging with the chopper close to Hannibal. One, two, no - three tries and he finally managed to snag Hannibal's shirt. Using it to pull the colonel upright. _Please,_ _God,_ _don't let their lines tangle_. With every ounce of strength he had, BA managed - painstakingly slow - to get his hands on the final piece of Hannibal's rig. Over the roar of the chopper blades twenty feet above, the wind, the adrenaline, the shots whizzing past his ears, over it all, he heard that small, glorious click of Hannibal's rig snapping securely on the line.

They were swinging and dragging over top of the jungle, faster, but smoother than a few seconds ago and gaining altitude. Murdock was hauling them away from the heat of the fight. Reaching up, BA tugged Hannibal's line, signalling the crew inside the safety of the chopper to pull him up. Suddenly Hannibal's muddy and bloodied hand snagged BA's wrist.

_No you don't, man._ There was no way BA was going up before Hannibal this time around. But instead of an arguing look, BA was met with hard blue eyes that he could all but feel even if he couldn't define it. It was gratitude and reassurance, something close to pride, but so much more. Something that BA couldn't quantify but he also couldn't argue.

Way too slow they began to move upwards. Hannibal first. It took an eternity for Face's and Ray's hands to pull him into the chopper. BA kept his eyes on the spot where Hannibal had disappeared. _Not_ at the ground far below him or the landscape rushing past so fast that it blurred, or at just what falling from this height, at this rate of speed would do to him.

He was just a few feet from the wide door of the chopper, home sweet home that was so much better than dangling in the air on glorified yarn, when the line stopped. Gears grinding and the line not moving. It was stuck, _he_ was stuck. Shit.

Before that fear of falling, being shot and dangling at twelve thousand feet, or plummeting to his death far beneath him could grow from seedling thoughts in the back of his mind to full blown irrational terror that paralyzed him, Face appeared over the edge. _Thank God. Thank you,_ _sweet Jesus._ Face had his shirt wrapped around his hand, grabbing at the line and pulling.

But _nothing_ happened. The gears didn't start moving, the line didn't get pulled up. Nothing. _Nothing._ And that fear was growing, from seedling to sapling, to full grown redwood.

Then Ray and Cruiser were there, hauling and dragging, their entire bodies straining and pulling themselves and him back into the chopper, and not stopping until that wonderful, dirty, hard metal deck of the chopper was under him.

Rolling onto his back, BA's eyes were wide, staring at the ceiling of the chopper, not even trying to catch his breath. His hands were shaking with adrenaline. So much so that he couldn't even help with Ray and Face grabbed him under the arms and moved him to the wall of the chopper. Getting him out of the way so Cruiser could work. Face made quick work of unclipping the harness and getting that piece of devil's work far, far away from BA.

Cruiser was checking Hannibal over. Ray pulled Cruiser's med kit over to him, opening it up as Cruiser was ripping Hannibal's fatigues open. Surveying the damage. There was no talking. There never was. Cruiser knew his role, knew exactly what he had to do and the focus it took to make it happen in these settings. Moving on autopilot from his kit to Hannibal and back again and again.

BA pulled himself up as Hannibal yelled something in Cruiser's ear. Something that had Cruiser frowning and looking like he wanted to hit something as he retorted a very clear "fuck off" back at Hannibal who was grinning like a bastard.

Closing his eyes and breathing through his nose, BA let everything wash over him. Almost dying, killing, bullets, blood, dropping, falling, flying. It was all over, all done.

No regrets.

"Hey, Cruiser." Ray said, breaking the silence that had fallen under the steady thump of the rotors. "What did he say?"

"What the fuck do you think he said?"

For a moment, a fraction of a second that seemed to hang in time beyond its length, they all looked at each other. Then they answered in a unison normally reserved for barber shop quartets.

"He loves it when a plan comes together."

 


	3. Chapter 2

There was no better high than that of a plan coming together-unless it was a plan no one had given a snowball's chance in hell. Or 'Nam, as the case may be. And now, he didn't just get to write another success in the books-a success they shouldn't have had, that was supposed to have been impossible, that proved yet again that his team was the best in 'Nam-he got to rub it in Mifflin's face.

"I've sent in three other crews, Smith," Mifflin had said when he given Hannibal the orders, standing stiff and grave and puffed up like a self-important parrot. "Yours will be the last." _And when you fail_ , he hadn't added, in so many words, _I can be rid of it, once and for all._

Hannibal cackled, imagining the look on Mifflin's face when they made it back to base. It was enough to distract him from the sharp pangs in his leg from Cruiser's tender mercies.

Then the pitch of the rotor blades changed as Murdock slowed, dropped them low to dance them over the ground to a beautiful, flawlessly executed landing on the base LZ, and it was time to get back to work.

Hannibal pushed up. He'd intended to get his feet under him, grab his gun and his pack, and jump down. But he'd barely put pressure on the leg the sapper's bullet had ripped through before Cruiser had forced his way under one arm and Face had grabbed the other.

"Upsy-daisy, Colonel," Face sing-songed.

He gritted his teeth and grunted. The wound itself wasn't bad. And considering it'd taken him with his rig half-off, dozens of feet in the air, with more of its breathren on the hunt-well, it could've been a hell of a lot worse. Should have been, even. But that didn't stop the bending and the change in elevation from jabbing pain sharply through the limb in protest.

Nothing like a little one-on-one time with your own mortality to put things in perspective.

So he let Face hand him down to Cruiser, let Cruiser stash him out of the way, and watched his team stow their gear while Murdock ran through his post-flight-to the accompaniment of something that sounded like an Italian opera. The flurry of activity was beautiful, like-a symphony of destruction wound through to its triumphant and jubilant denouement. Within moments, the bird was in ship-shape, and smokes had jumped to idle hands.

BA, looking like he'd seen a ghost and unsteady on his feet, was the last man out of the chopper. Cruiser threw an arm around the big man's shoulders. "You get any paler, they're gonna promote you."

BA growled.

"You'd look good with some gold bars, BA." Face chimed in with a cocky grin-and a safe distance away. "You can rubber-stamp some paperwork for me."

"Man," BA said, "when I get back to the World, I ain't ever flying again." The scowl he threw Murdock's chopper was hot enough to melt it down to scrap right then and there.

Hannibal chuckled. If he kept that up, Murdock was liable to take personal offense. But for now, the pilot just bounded out of the chopper with enough energy to make Hannibal feel old and dropped an arm over the big man's shoulders, displacing Cruiser.

"Aw, come on, now, BA. I got our whole stateside business set up! BA and HM Airlines." Murdock's smile was lit as bright as the billboard he spread across the horizon line would no doubt be. "You fly or you die! It's brilliant!"

"Can you walk?" Cruiser demanded, suddenly, momentarily eclipsing Murdock's great business plan. He had Hannibal's gear, as well as his own.

"I can walk."

Cruiser ignored him, and pulled Hannibal's arm around his shoulders, anyway. Probably figured it'd protect him from Murdock's enthusiasm.

The others scrambled for their gear when Hannibal and Cruiser started moving, following slow and steady.

". . . legs for that sort of thing, you know?" Murdock was saying. Something about BA wearing the stewardess hat and skirt.

"Now, Murdock," Face chided with his best _just listen to me, don't think about it_ smile. "BA may not want to wear the skirt. He's a forward thinker and all, but I think you have a better chance offering up a pant suit. Maybe something with a bow tie and mutton sleeves."

Cruiser snorted. It should have been too quiet for Murdock to hear, but the pilot immediately said: "Hey, Cruiser! You've got the medical know-how. You can be the flight nurse. Bet you'll make a killing in tips."

"Betcha he just makes a few killings," Ray spoke up, low and dry. A better audience would've laughed.

"If they need more than those mini bottles of booze to make it through the flight, they can fuck off."

"And that," Face assured, "is the new face of customer service." He stumbled a little when Murdock jumped on his back like an over-excited Labrador retriever.

"A-Team Airlines! Now with free death threats!"

Hannibal ignored the small scuffle of Face trying to get Murdock off him in favor of fishing his cigar stub from his breast pocket. Wound up like this, they'd run with anything, good idea or not. Getting them to wind down, often as not, required judicial timing.

He set the stub between his teeth. "You know, kid," he mused, grabbing Murdock's attention more with the pause while he lit his cigar than with the words. "You may wanna work on your corporate motto. Maybe something a little less grim. And get better-looking help. Cruiser's fine for sewing up grunts, but not a lot of people want to see him in nylons."

Murdock looked thoughtful, but BA scoffed. "Ain't nobody wants to see Cruiser in nylons."

"I know he's not on my list," Face chimed in, ignoring-or perhaps not noticing-the betrayed look Murdock gave him. They all knew what was on Face's list: women, fortune, and fame.

He had grand plans, Face did. Business plans and investments, retirement by the time he was thirty-the high life, with all the creature comforts money could buy, and a different girl on his arm every day of the week.

The kicker, the thing that always struck Hannibal at odd moments, was that the kid could do it. He had the brains, the drive, the vision. He could maybe use a little polishing, a little more direction, but that was what college was for.

Ray, when he got back in the World, was going to marry his girl, start a family. BA would go back home, take care of his mama. Hannibal had always figured, when he got tired of this life, that he'd head out west and try his hand at acting. But out of all of them, Face was the only one who wanted to change the world.

"You know, guys-"

"Ass kiss alert." Ray nodded his head towards the scurrying little figure closing in from their left, and every eye followed the motion-some more subtly than others.

"What you do this time, Face!"

"Come on, now, BA, that's unfair. Nothing but hearsay and speculation-"

"You get us confined to quarters again and I'll hearsay my foot up your-"

Murdock interrupted BA's graphic threat with an impressively authentic-sounding alarm klaxon. "Bogie at eight o'clock, Colonel!" Spreading his arms out like a plane, Murdock finally released BA and circled the group-complete with jet engine sound-effects. "Requesting permission to engage the enemy, sir!"

"Denied, Lieutenant." Hannibal drew cigar smoke deep into his lungs while Murdock slumped, hands jammed into his pockets like a child denied the last cookie. Dwyer, the flunky chosen by Mifflin to bear glad tidings strode the final distance with the tense determination usually reserved for unpleasant tasks. He smiled at him. "Corporal?"

He saluted. "The Commander requests you, your team, and the pilot report to his office, ASAP, sir."

Of course he did. "I couldn't think of a place I'd like to be expected more," Hannibal observed, and knew by the expressions on his team's face that they could think of plenty. It was Face, naturally, who offered a suggestion: "How 'bout getting a root canal?"

Dwyer's expression flickered.

Hannibal grinned around his cigar and returned the salute. When Dwyer was retreating back the way he'd come, Hannibal gave Face a reassuring pat on the back. "Come on, kid. Don't sweat it. He probably wants my autograph."

*****

He didn't want Hannibal's autograph. He wanted an arm and a leg and a piece of their souls Plus fifty thousand words he could strike down, strike out, or strike through. Stamp them with a bright red F and toss them to the wolves. The ones wearing Grandma's clothing.

And Murdock just wanted to move.

Debriefings, though, were a kind of necessary evil. Like doing your tax returns or getting a prostate exam. Someone up the chain of command had ordained it A Thing That Must Be Done ™, and everyone else just had to figure out a way to get through it.

So Murdock did just that. Setting his ears to listen and his brain to storage mode (a trick he'd learned when he was just a kid who didn't want to be where he was), Murdock let his brain record all the details-his very own stenographer-and thought about something else. Like what he was going to do first, once they were released from this little, banal corner of Hell.

Drink? Cruiser'd have no objections to that. Dance? Probably wouldn't be a lot of waltzes, but he'd bet money on a couple of lovely tangos. Gamble? There were so many vices to choose from-most available right on base, thanks to Face and his "club." And no one had ever said he had to choose just one.

Maybe he could make a giant super-vice.

"Lieutenant Colonel Smith! Do you have any idea of the damage you've managed with just this one stunt alone?"

Murdock's jaw clenched. That wasn't one of the questions he had to pay attention to-it had been directed at Hannibal. But it meant the nice, quiet, show-and-tell portion or the debrief was over. Now Mifflin would set about telling them all the ways they'd fucked up their successful mission.

"No, sir."

Because Mifflin didn't care about the results. He didn't care if the supply depot was blown up, or the VC caravan waylaid, or the POWs snatched from the jaws of death. Not if the orders had been to deliver Feel Goods to the locals so the US could say they were helping and everyone loved their presence in good ole Vietnam.

"I have three other base commanders riding my ass over the guns they're missing and a chopper that wasn't available for a drop."

"We had all the proper forms, sir." Only Hannibal could be the picture perfect, board-straight, at-attention soldier and still seem to be in charge. It probably had something to do with the fact that Mifflin was seething, nearly spitting and red enough in the face to worry about a stroke while Hannibal was just as cool as ever.

Mifflin's fists slammed down on his desk. "I don't give a shit how many forms you had! You goddamned well better know it." His nostrils flared as he came around the desk, slow and deliberate and pissed-the-hell-off. "If I have one more piece of equipment," Mifflin said, low and tight, pausing in front of Face, "with a paperwork problem that miraculously lands in your happy laps, I will damned well make sure you don't have access to anything that can be forged again."

He pulled up to his full height inches in front of Hannibal. "You want to play, Commander? You figure out how to do it without running amuck. You can't do that, you can say goodbye to that patch on your arm. And I. Would _not_. Test me on that."

Murdock half-expected a staring contest, simply 'cause of the way Mifflin was standing: squint-eyed, his weight canted forward, body tense. But Hannibal just belted out "Yes, sir!" like he gave two shakes of a rattler's tail what Mifflin thought. And that was just funny. Man, West Point really must be a hell of a proving ground for pretending to respect fatheads.

It did the trick, though. Mifflin backed off, visibly calming himself back to his usual, very reasonable nature. Too bad they never saw much of it. The team just seemed to have a knack for pushing him straight to his limit.

"Good." Hands going resolutely behind his back, Mifflin pulled his body to his full puffed up height and looked down his nose at them to decree: "You all are down for the next five days. No passes. No exceptions." Because God forbid the victor pass up an opportunity to gloat. "Dismissed."

Murdock snapped off a salute and turned on his heel fast enough to catch Face and BA and Ray and Cruiser still in the act of reluctantly saluting . It was not the act Face and Cruiser-and even maybe BA, would have preferred. Nope, that act would be number one on the list of sins to conglomerate tonight. His expression safely hidden from Mifflin, Murdock grinned wide and sloppy at BA, and got a reflexive growl in return.

Mifflin voice stopped them all.

"Lieutenant, Lieutenant Colonel. Stay."

Face stopped, glancing from Hannibal to Murdock and opening his mouth to protest. using Hannibal's full rank was never a good sign.

"Dismissed, Sergeant." Hannibal's tone was anything but harsh, but there was an underlying warning there that Face needed to not press this currently. And this time, Face shut his mouth, shooting Mifflin a scowl before leaving the room and closing the door behind him Leaving the three of them alone.

Getting asked to stay after class only lead to trouble. Murdock knew this for a fact. Thanks to his second grade teacher, Mrs. Beikert. Who knew a few little Garter Snakes could cause so much trouble? Not like they had guns or anything. Still, he'd had to stay after and write, "Snakes are not friends, they are vermin." five hundred times. Then she'd paddled him like he was a dang kayak.

"Lieutenant Murdock." It was his turn to tune out the man. "Your flight chief had some interesting things to say about you today. Seems your radio malfunctions on a regular basis. Often preceded by a direct order from Covey." He paused for a moment. "Care to explain?"

"Reliable communications is a challenging issue. Very complex, sir." Neither confirm nor deny. Just dance.

"Well I can tell you one thing for certain. You run into this "challenging issue" again, you wont have to worry about Covey because you wont have your wings anymore."

Keep you mouth shut, don't say anything to the arrogant, puffed up... "No one can guarantee anything will function." Murdock shoved the voice of reason out of the picture, and kicked it in the gut for good measure. "I can guarantee I'm AC. It's my chopper. My wings. My call." Murdock had shed a shitload of blood, sweat, and tears for wings. It was his helicopter, his crew and his job to get everyone in and out alive, and that's exactly what they'd done. No way was this little prick going to take that away.

White hot anger boiled up, lapping at the edges of his brain. Images of blood and sky and kids - friends, bleeding out. Everything they had given, everything Murdock had done, all for not. They were his wings and no one was _ever_ going to take them.

It was the discrete nudge from Hannibal that shocked him just enough to remember where he was and what he was saying.

Out loud.

Damn. It.

"With all due respect. Sir." Baseline, military instinct had him hastily adding that. He might have to say it, but he sure as hell didn't have to mean it.

"Lieutenant, you can kick and scream about it all you want. By the time you sort it out with your flight chief and get the Marines to reinstate you, you won't be my problem any longer."

"Sir, yes sir." _Let it alone Murdock. It doesn't matter,think about your wings._ Once again, Murdock blew off reason and sanity with too much ease. "I'm not your problem, I'm your very best. Sir." Mifflin was just the kind of pompous jackass who liked to threaten and intimidate. If he thought for a second it worked, he would latch on. Well fuck that. And fuck him

Fact check; they were short as hell on chopper pilots. Murdock was needed. No matter how much crying Mifflin did there was no reason to take his wings. Mifflin got all sorts of praise and pats on the back for the jobs and completed missions Murdock pulled off.

That was part of the real reason Mifflin was pissed. The more time Murdock was spending with Hannibal, running his missions, the less time he was spending racking up numbers for Mifflin's ego.

"Commander." Hannibal started before things got too far out of control and Murdock walked out of the office a PFC again. "Lieutenant Murdock and his crew made a decision that saved the mission and the rest of my team's lives." His voice dropped a notch. "Now, the moment he sabotages a mission or puts another crew in danger, then we can reassess his field decisions. Until that happens, you know as well as I do, he's the best damn pilot out here."

Mifflin didn't do anything except puff up more. "That may be the case, but my position on this matter doesn't change. You get your crew in line." It was the end of the discussion.

"I ain't his crew." There was no way Mifflin was pissed about Murdock flying. He was pissed about losing control and having to deal with messy paperwork. He didn't give a damn about the men who had risked their lives, or about the soldiers lost and saved. It was all about numbers to this little shit head. "Sir."

Mifflin took a step towards Murdock. "Correct, Lieutenant. And I have already spoken with your chief." He let the insinuation go unspoken, instead barking out a solid, "Dismissed." He was close enough to spray Murdock with fine droplets of spit.

Luckily Murdock didn't have to figure out how to tell Mifflin to fuck off and still maintain subordination. Instead, Hannibal saved him with a hard military "Yes Sir!" and a textbook pretty salute that had his hand dropping onto Murdock's shoulder. "Let's go, Lieutenant."

Mifflin might not have earned the time of day from Murdock, but Hannibal had. And right now Hannibal was giving him an unspoken order to shut his cakehole, play nice and get out, now.

"Yes sir." There was minimal effort in both of those, just enough to play by the rules.

*****

Life in Vietnam went by with the blink of an eye. You pick the wrong moment to blink and that was it. Finality in its purest form. The full pendulum slide meant life to its fullest. No regrets and no blinks wasted. Radio blasting, and thanks to BA, it was actually blasting Jimi Hendrix's Watchtower, Face couldn't help but smile. Mifflin could go fuck himself, and Face had a stack of very authentic paperwork that could allow for just that.

But right now? None of that mattered. What did matter was the fact that he had the world by its tail. Hell yeah he did and there was no stopping them! Murdock was going to be back any time and Face was ready. Freshly showered, he ran a comb through his hair, bending his knees just a bit to get the exact right height on the mirror square mounted on the post of his bunk. No doubt about it; Face looked _good_.

"You look in that mirror much more you're gonna wind up breaking it." Cruiser tossed his towel at Face's head, a lame attempt to mess up the hair he'd just perfected.

"Nah," Ray chimed in. "The last thing he needs is sixteen tiny mirrors to admire himself in."

"You laugh, but the results speak for themselves."

Any further argument was cut off by the door opening. Even over the beat of Hendrix's wailing guitar and Cruiser's laughing, the air changed the moment Murdock and Hannibal walked in. Face's eyes narrowed just slightly, for all intents and purposes Murdock looked fine. Half cocked smile, goofy hair that never followed a comb, he even had the right amount of giddyup in his step. But his jaw was too tense and his eyes were off.

Face glanced over to Hannibal for just a moment. The unlit cigar was more than enough confirmation that Mifflin hadn't given them a commendation for saving their asses.

"Results?" Murdock didn't miss a beat with the conversation he'd walked in on. "Awe hell, Face, don't go screwing up a nice little war like this by worrying about results." The crooked smile was infectious. But the eyes.

Two long loping strides was all Murdock needed to be next to the extra foot locker Face had acquired. The guy spent more time here than in his own flight crew's bunker, an extra foot locker to store all of his crap was the least Face could manage.

Murdock crouched down and opened up the storage box, sorting through the meager contents with one hand, pulling a smoke out with the other. All the while singing, "There must be some kinda way outta here, said the joker to the thief..."

"It's called Tequila."

"Or a bullet."

Face just smiled. Cruiser could have his booze and Ray his spiritual neverland. "All you gotta do is ask." Face flipped the comb into his own foot locker and waved his fingers like they were magic. "We can be on the next ride out. Ain't that right, Murdock?"

"You know it, sunshine. Freedom flight 663 ready and waiting to depart on your say so." Murdock was too distracted with ransacking to bother looking up.

"Hawaii any day of the week Murdock." Ray laughed.

Instead of running with all the things they could do in the surf and sand, Face's eyes cut to Murdock. They didn't call each other Sunshine. Not even as a joke. It was too close to all the horrible things that had happened. And yet Murdock hadn't even stalled for a moment at the mention of her. Swallowing, Face shoved the memories down and glanced over at his pillow to concentrate on that before the unwelcome past came back to the surface.

The thud of Murdock's foot locker dropping closed snapped Face out of it.

"Hey, any of you guys seen Edgar?"

Finding his smile again in the mirror, Face grabbed his shirt off the bunk post. "Who?" It took him a second to think that all the way through. "Wait - what's Edgar?"

"He's a Banded Kurki. Real cute fella." Murdock stood up, hands on hips. "I left him right here. Found him a few weeks ago. He's been real good about making snacks of the rats. I really need to find him. He needs to go meet Mifflin, just about the time he goes to the officer's latrine tonight."

Now there was an idea. Face choked out a chuckle. There wasn't a single piece of paperwork he could think of that would cover their involvement with that. No matter how official it looked. "And you're saying you lost your snake?"

"He's not _my_ snake Face. I don't own him. It's not like you get a snake license when you find the poor guy all cold and hiding in your boot." He grinned at Face "You know what a Kurki is? And here I thought you were only looking at the nudie pictures in the National Geographics."

"You know, Face, he's into the tribal piercings."

"Murdock," Face ignored Cruiser. "Everyone knows what Kurkis are. But how about we forget Edgar, huh? I'm sure he just slithered off, out and about to the world and reunited with the rest of his family." Surely Murdock wouldn't deny anyone, not even something that should rightfully be a wallet, the family life.

"Family?" Murdock cocked his head, looking a little worried. "You think Edgar got a sweet little lady friend and some eggs to come home to?" Face could tell by the look alone that Murdock hadn't thought about the home life of a pair of boots in the making.

"I don't want him to miss out on life with the missus and kids. Just thought it was a good way to keep the rats away. You know a working arrangement. Well, except for the part where I was going put him in the commander's shitter. That was just gonna be, you know a learning lesson for Mifflin."

"I'm sure that if Edgar can convince… misses Edgar of all the perks of a this working arrangement you had in mind, then this hooch would be the only rat free corner of Vietnam." Also the most disgusting, skin crawling place in the world, but Face had very little expectations of realizing that fear.

"I can't put the poor guy in the latrine." Murdock shook his head. All too suddenly the sad look was gone and he was smiling at BA. "Hey BA you got some explosives I can borrow?"

"No!" BA barked. "And if I find out you housing snakes in this place I'm gonna twist your lips into a pretzel, fool."

"I don't house 'em BA, it's an exchange of services. A nice boot to sleep in, and in return, no rat poop in our toothpaste. It's win win."

Hannibal just chuckled at the whole thing, finally lighting up his cigar. "You guys blow off steam however you like. But keep it out of Mifflin's office and away from his attention." For some unknown reason by the end of that Hannibal was looking directly at Face.

Hand smoothing down the front of a shirt Face hadn't yet put on, he raised his brow at the accusation. "You know me, Colonel. I'm on the straight and narrow."

"Uh huh," Hannibal wasn't buying it. "So is Edgar."

"No problem, Hannibal, his latrine is way outside his office."

"Lieutenant. Sergeant." Hannibal didn't expand upon the warning. He'd said enough. Mifflin had already confined them to base, now they couldn't poke the wasp's nest either. That was okay, there were still plenty of things to do. Plenty. Face couldn't contain the smile. They were alive and well and there was a whole base full of opportunity. Murdock needed to blow off some steam and Face - well, Face knew just what to do.

 


	4. Chapter Three

"Hey, Face, do you think we could find a poisonous snake somewhere on base, in the middle of the night, while drunk, and not get ourselves killed?" Murdock shook his head a little, trying to clear the bottle of whiskey they'd downed. "Man if I had dollar for every time I had to ask that."

Turned out the second half of that bottle was very convincing indeed.

"Who's counting?" For a second Face looked like he was actually trying to figure it out. But that much concentration going to something other than his balance had him stumbling and grabbing the table. "I'm guessing no. Unless you know a snake charmer, and that happens to be the one profession I have zero contacts for."

"Got any for enraged wildebeest wranglers?"

"Only on the manufacturing side. And they're far less destructive when nicely processed."

"But I'm looking for the destructive."

"There's always C4." Cruiser leaned on the table, bottle in hand and smiling. "But you'd have to get past BA for that."

"See now Face, that's the kinda forward thinking I'm looking for." Murdock gave Face a salute with his mostly empty glass. "How pissed do you think Hannibal would be if we blew up the command shitter with the head shit in it?"

"And this would be the start of really bad ideas." Ray pushed himself up. "You boys have fun and stay clear of explosives and killing people. It's bound to get Hannibal right mad." With a grin and a wave over his shoulder, Ray was gone. Ray was a rock solid, always got your back kind of man. But the last thing he wanted from his time in Vietnam was a rap sheet or a court-marshall.

"He right." And BA had spoken. The final nail in the coffin of excellent, if not a bit exuberant plans. There would be no latrine fire tonight.

Cruiser just let out a deep breath that had his lips flapping in a deflated sort of way. "See, there ya go, always taking the fun outta things."

"Well, there's fun," Face quirked his brow, "and then there's _fun_."

"There's blowing your fool heads off too." The man was always way too logical for good wholesome fun. Logical and pissed.

"You make that sound like a bad thing, BA." Murdock had to shake his head at the big man. "Near as I can figure that's exactly what Mifflin wants. Or maybe he just wants us to get our asses shot off. Hard to tell sometimes."

"Fuck Mifflin."

"And then there's that. Very articulate, Cruiser." Face commended. "How about we get outta here? Find something that doesn't involve snakes, wildebeests, or explosives." He threw a smile at BA. "Sound about right?"

"Nope." Murdock wasn't going to be distracted that easy. "You're kinda forgetting the whole opportunity we have for, you know, educating Mifflin." It wasn't like Face to forget the important stuff. Maybe the second half of the bottle wasn't agreeing with his frontal lobe either.

"Right." Face just held his glass up like that was a complete toast. "So let's go."

Murdock tapped his glass against Face's. "Let's roll." Face would never let him down. Murdock almost felt ashamed for thinking, even for a second that Face had. The burning of cheap booze helped with that. Setting his empty glass on the table he was up, fighting gravity and winning, again.

It didn't take them long. Stumbling and weaving they made their way across the base. Cruiser had the gift of enough foresight to grab another bottle of booze from the barkeep before they had made it out the door. Earning him a growl from BA. But true to form, Cruiser had just jabbed him in the arm with is elbow and offered him a drink to "lighten the fuck up."

God bless whiskey.

By the time they made it halfway across the base, avoiding the MP's - successfully he might add - they were crooning Wild Thing and laughing.

Laughing. It was something that didn't happen nearly enough and when it did, invariably Face was around. In the hot, sweaty hell hole in Nowheresville South East Asia, Murdock had found something that made all the blood and death and nightmares worth it. A true, life long friend. More then that, someone who understood it all and got the things Murdock couldn't even get in his own head. He never needed to explain, Face just knew. It was like finding the missing piece of a jigsaw puzzle before you even knew it was missing. Man, how much had he drank? If he kept it up he was going to be writing sonnets. _Ode to a conman named Face, a man who could disarm a foe and woo their wife with equal flair and grace..._

They were almost in the middle of the foreign soil Americans were calling theirs when Murdock saw the cage. Corgi! When had they made it to the Sunbear? And why hadn't he thought of Corgi sooner. He loved that damn bear.

Rescued as a cub from the rubble of a village that had been destroyed by the VC, Corgi was one of the innocents they'd saved in their time here. And one of the few native things to Vietnam not trying to kill them. Yet there he was, on his hind paws all shades of pissed off as he roared and swatted at the damned SEALs there in front of his pen poking sticks through the wire and laughing like it was the funniest damn thing they'd seen.

That was going to stop.

Murdock nudged Cruiser's arm. "Well look at that, a whole group of knuckle draggers picking on something that can't fight back. That hardly seems fair."

The SEALs were so involved in their fun little game of cat and mouse that they hadn't noticed the team. Not even when BA growled his dismay at the situation.

"Easy big guy." Murdock shot a quick look over to Face. He didn't need to say anything, Face would know what he was thinking. Face could read too.

"BA, How about you go offer our little buddies there a drink?" It wouldn't take long. Face's grin let him know they were on the same page.

Cruiser cut off BA's growl at the suggestion with a wave of the bottle and an arm around the bigger man's shoulders. Taking a step in their direction.

"A drink, Cruiser." Face said, stepping in front of them for a moment. "Not a concussion."

"Oh ye of little faith." Cruiser brushed Face outta the way and a moment later, after a quick exchange of looks with Face that figured their odds of Cruiser not punching one of them at no greater than fifty percent, and Face and Murdock were off. Making their way to the back of the cage.

It was just like clock work. The SEAL's were moving away from the cage, Face had spotted the MP's before they got anywhere near enough to their location to cause problems, and was… handling… them. And Murdock. Well, Murdock was smiling like a third grader turned loose in a candy factory as he flipped the latch to the lock on Corgi's cage.

Swear to God the bear smiled at him. He was a bright boy and apparently more than happy to play his part in their little game. Not that it was a game, it was more like a life lesson. Never fuck with something that's happy to leave you alone.

Murdock leaned against the door of the cage and called out to the jar heads. "Hey guys. Wanna know why it's not funny to poke sticks at a caged animal?" There was one beautiful second of confusion turned to horrified understanding that he wished like hell he could have a photo of. Something to keep forever. "Because someone with opposible thumbs and a key might take offense to y'all being assholes." Murdock smiled, and with a flip of his wrist, the door was open and he was stepping behind it.

Corgi shifted, with a lumbering movement that hid just how fast the sucker could move, the Sunbear was up and moving through the opening, right for the men with sticks. In a move that the Keystone Cops would have envied, the men all tried to run in the same direction at once. Ended up careening off of each other and ricocheting around until they managed a semi stampede of terrified men running right towards the trees.

"Hey, guys! Try rubbing its belly! I hear that makes 'em all sleepy and tame as a kitten!"

"Murdock. I think that only works on alligators."

"Are you sure, Face?" Murdock dropped his hands from around his mouth like a makeshift megaphone. "What about other members of the reptilian family? Or does that go strictly by genius?"

There was a muffled, "Ow, fuck, move it." The leaves of the Rattan tree shook as a herd of morons tried to race to the top of it, all of them at the same time. It was something straight out of Warner Brothers.

Cruiser swayed a bit, finally able to get it together enough to talk. "You think we should tell them Sunbears can climb trees?"

"I'm not so sure they'd listen. They haven't been too receptive to suggestion lately."

"True."

"Besides, I'm sure a brilliant group of high level thinkers and scholars such as that bunch, have a complex, yet logically sound plan in mind. 'Cause climbing up a tree to getaway from old Corgi would be stupid."

"Holy shit! The fucker is climbing up the goddamn tree!" In a flurry of branches and leaves, one of the brain trust tried swinging Tarzan style away from the bear. It didn't work, all that happened was one unlucky sucker ended up swinging on a branch as a pissed off Sunbear took a few good swipes at him.

"Oh, they got Corgi a jackass pinata! You think when it cracks open, all the stupid comes cascading out?"

"Nah." Cruiser took another swig off the bottle.

Face nudged him in the ribs. "Twenty bucks only buys so much time from the MP's. Time to go." He was already jogging off. Murdock and the others followed suit. None of them knew how he did it, but Face had a sixth sense when it came to law enforcement types. "Do you think we should have told them that Sunbears are herbivores?"

*****

Drinking, smoking, gambling, and exaggerating stories about their escapades with women were all activities that BA had on his list of "things I don't want to do with my down time". He'd seen enough of that jive growin' up. But they also happened to be what everyone else on his team was up for. So there he was, leaning against the bar of Face's "social club", nursing a mug of kool aid and breathing in stale cigarette smoke.

Off to his side Cruiser was drinking and laughing it up with some brunette about the time that him and Murdock had ended up inside the K9 kennels. The dog's handlers, less than amused, had offered to get those two stupid fools handlers of their own. They didn't appreciate the fact that Murdock and Cruiser had managed to get in the kennels and not get bit. And they _really_ didn't appreciate the fact the dogs followed Murdock's command to "find booze" and headed right for the handlers foot locker and his stash of whiskey.

Just another case of more energy than brains. It was a common disease in the young male population. He'd watched too many of his friends from childhood catch it. It usually ended up with jail or gettin' killed. Course he had run game too, but he was a pro about it. Smart enough to never get caught and his aunt kept him from playin' too deep with that crowd. Enough to make his name. Not enough to attract the hardcore lifers.

But bad as it was in the city streets, it was even worse in Vietnam. And Face and Murdock were the gold and silver medal holders in the idiot race. Somehow those two managed to be more trouble since they became friends then they had been as enemies. Face 'cause he was smart enough to run a scam, but too green to know his limits or when he needed help. And Murdock was just bound and determined to hide his troubles behind his crazy fool smile. All the while jamming a lifetime of living into every second.

BA took a sip of his drink and watched Face deal out a game of five card draw to the group of rock headed SEAL's. Face was smooth, but BA had watched better cheats. And cheating a group of SEAL's in a game you'd invited them to as a way to smooth over letting a bear chase them up a tree... it was plain stupid.

Stupid like BA hadn't seen in a long damn time.

Face was smart enough to scam everything he needed to operate a bar, on a military base in a war zone. Complete with a real live juke box, and not wind up in jail with a mountain of charges, or even hear word one about it. Yet he was still flat out stupid enough to cheat when playing a group of the meanest, roughest, bad asses on the planet, who were already planning your death.

Face had a special kind of stupid that knew no bounds.

And Murdock only compounded the problem. Laughing and singing and being just the right type of fool to have the SEALs looking at him like they wanted to rip off his head just to shut him up. For all his clown antics it was all part of their rouse. Face would read the reflections of the cards he dealt in his nice shiny zippo lighter while Murdock made sure everyone was watching him.

This was gonna end with a fight. But BA had known that before they'd left the team room for the night. He drained his mug, keeping it in his fist, at the ready for when the accusations started flying. He didn't have to wait long.

Right on cue Trace threw his hands down on the table, sending cards and money scattering everywhere. "You're a cheating piece of shit, Peck!"

Face just looked up at Trace as though he had no idea what the man was talking about. "Come on now, there's no need for name calling." All innocent smile, he continued the denial. "We kept the stakes small, but if you can't handle losing a few bucks..." He shrugged like it was no skin off his back.

A barely raised brow from Cruiser was all the commotion earned from the medic. It was enough to let BA know he had back up when things got out of hand. Even if it meant leaving the attentions of the brunette. If there was one thing Cruiser liked more than women and tequila, it was tequila and good old fashioned brawl.

Keeping his attention on the table, it was hard not to notice how grating Murdock's grin was even at this distance. "No need for hurt feelings and bent cards. How about we go double or nothing?"

Trace leaned in, spit flying as he offered his thoughts on the matter in a low growl. "How about I break your fingers!"

"That would make it harder to deal the cards. And really hard to fly."

There was something in the way Murdock looked. That odd stillness and too wide grin. That look always had the hair on the back of BA's neck standing up. And this time it had him moving away from the bar and towards the table.

"You got that?" Cruiser asked without pulling his head away from the woman's neck. BA didn't bother answering.

"So how about I go spend my winnings on an hour with your moth-" Murdock started

"- Hey now," Face cut him off before Murdock could finish the insult. "We're just letting off some steam here. A nice, fun game, right? Let's just have another drink or two, relax and play another hand. I'm sure you'll get your money back." There was that glint in his eyes that instantly told BA Face was full of crap. "How about we go for that double or nothing? Make things interesting? Whatever makes you guys more comfortable in the game. We can even switch things up if you want. You know, just in case you have any doubts about our abilities."

Great the kid was going to double down on the stupid factor and see if he could pull off a bigger scam. This time, Jarvis, a massive man even by SEAL standards, piped up. "How about a game you two scrawny little weasels can't cheat at? A real game."

Cheating wasn't right, but neither was gambling. If you was going to do things that were illegal then you needed to be aware. Take care of your own business. Better to learn that lesson by losing a few bucks, then to have some dude with a knife stick you in the ribs because you weren't paying attention.

Face's smile went tight as he narrowed his eyes at Jarvis. "You mean something you can understand the rules of a little better? Maybe Go Fish or Jacks?"

"Nah, Face, you're thinking too big. Tiddlywinks is right up his alley, says ages three and up on the box." Thank you Murdock for your timely contribution.

BA gave a soft growl, a warning the lunkhead would understand. If they decided to start throwing punches, it wasn't just going to be two fool kids who weighed less than BA's boots against five SEALs. It was them against a team.

"Yeah, but that's not color coded."

Trace didn't appreciate the witty banter anymore than BA did. One quick motion and Face's chair had been kicked out from under him and Trace was pulling him nose to nose. "You got a line of credit, wiseguy? Let's go find out." With that, he spun Face around, towards the door.

BA was already on him. No one was going to deck Face for telling the truth. It was too rare of an occurrence. And Trace was as dumb as a box of rocks. BA dropped a hand on Trace's shoulder, harder than it need to be. "Drop him or I drop you." He was looking at the SEAL, keeping the others in his peripheral, noting who was where and making sure it was Murdock at his back.

"I'd do as the man says." Face sounded way too calm for someone being dragged around by the collar, but BA could tell the man was a half second away from unleashing his own kind of hurt on Trace.

From behind him he heard Murdock. "He get's all grumpy when you wrinkle his sergeant."

In one fluid motion, Face freed himself without, miracle of miracles, throwing a punch. "Another game? You know, the more I think about that the more I like it. Maybe..." He took a step back, gaze straying to the ceiling as if he were lost in deep contemplation. "...a game of football?"

BA waited for Trace's reaction, feeling the man relax just a second before he let him go.

"Football?" Trace said, tossing a glance over to Jarvis and Jacobs with a toothy smile. "What do you say guys? Take out some collateral damage and show these twerps how it's done?"

It took everything BA had not to shake his head. Man, the stupid was neck deep. Face knew good and well that the SEALs new guy, Marcon, had been an all star quarterback in college. Till he got the Dean's underage daughter in a family way. Face said the girl had been sent away and Marcon had been flunked out and shipped off to Vietnam. In all his talking Face had explained a whole long complicated string of people who knew people and sources that lead back to just how he knew this, but BA didn't care. He didn't care then or now. He trusted Face's intel, which meant he offered up football knowing the SEALs would jump on the chance.

"Football?" Murdock sounded just as happy and unaware as always. "I've never played it, but it can't be that hard right?"

Jarvis just laughed. "Get the ball and run." Simple.

The part of BA that wasn't watching everything and everyone really hoped the man was kidding.

"And how about..." Face's smile was too bright. "We go for that double or nothing?" Judging by the grins on Trace and Jacob's faces, the bait had been taken.

"Triple it for all I care." Somehow, that sounded like a threat.

"Deal."

There wasn't going to be a fight. Yet. But there was going to be a hell of a lot of explaining from Face when they got back to their bunks. And at least half of it had better be true.

"Good, then it's settled!" Face started to turn away towards the bar but suddenly paused. His smile faltering, brow creasing before he glanced back up at Jacobs. "Do you guys have a ball?"

It was times like this that BA could really understand why people drank.

****

"You don't understand, BA, this is a simple game of skill. We just happen to have the upper-hand."

"No, you scammin' like you always doin' and this time you drug everyone in with ya."

Hannibal looked up at the commotion just in time to see BA send Face backpedaling through the door, flashing that same brilliant smile that had given Hannibal a headache time and time again.

"It's not a scam, big guy. It's brilliant!" And wouldn't you know it, Murdock was right there in tow, yammering away, in his own special way about why this was so great.

He needed more coffee to even be in the same room as the commotion let alone figure out what was going on this time. Face had come a long ways since he'd pulled him out of that contraband filled jail cell. Far enough that Hannibal had kept him on the team despite a lengthy list of reasons not to. They'd even managed to come to an understanding about just what would and wouldn't fly when it came to the perpetual rule breaking. But the kid pushed. His mind and mouth worked faster than Darwinism should allow. Hannibal had no doubt that one day "survival of the fittest" would either put Face right at the top of the food chain, or in the ground. There would be no in between for that kid.

"Think about it," Murdock continued, "We got leave coming up and now we got a guaranteed money maker. I mean sure, I've never played football, but it can't be that hard to learn right?" The pilot threw himself on his borrowed cot and tucked his hands behind his head. "Have you thought about what you're going to do with all the extra money? I think I'm gonna get some kites."

_Football?_ Suppressing a groan, Hannibal rubbed his temple. How in the hell had Face figured out how to rig that?

Face just raised an eyebrow at BA. Murdock got it, why couldn't BA get on board? "See, that's the spirit." Somehow his smile managed to get even brighter. "You wanted to get something nice for your Mom, now you can get something _great_."

"Man, like that makes it okay."

Hannibal fixed his gaze on Face. "Do I even want to know? Or will I regret asking?"

"Entirely above board, Colonel." Face assured all too confidently.

"Yeah Hannibal, this happened fair and square when we were gambling at the club -" One sharp look from Face and Murdock sat up, looking guiltily to the floor. "The club... that um... that doesn't exist."

The club that didn't exist and Hannibal had known about since Face had scammed the first two by four for it. It didn't take much for the grumblings about missing equipment, like a jukebox and an air conditioning unit and other lavish pieces, to start making the rounds. Hannibal had known almost instantly that Face was behind it. And it took next to no snooping to confirm that suspicion. But in the end, a social club that kept Face busy and out of all shades of other sorts of trouble... Hannibal hadn't put a stop to it on that merit alone.

And he would have been happy to continue to ignore it even now. However, ignoring the obvious when it was so flagrantly being flaunted in front of him would just give Face a false sense of security. And that was dangerous and stupid. Like offering up a challenge for Face to see what Hannibal would put a stop to. They'd been down that road before. Turning towards Murdock, he lowered his voice a notch. "Tell me more, about this club that doesn't exist."

Murdock's eyes bounced from Hannibal to the wall, to Face, and back to the floor. Anywhere but back to Hannibal. "Well, you see, I can't because, it's um-" Murdock was up, off the cot, hands flailing, distracting his audience from the poorly constructed lie.

"It's not really a club, Hannibal." Face cut in before Murdock could dig further.

"Yeah see, it would be crazy to have a club with a bar and ping pong tables all smack dab in the middle of a base in Vietnam. No way that could be real, right? So, since this is Vietnam, there can't be a club." Murdock jammed his hands into his pockets and nodded at his logic.

Face let out an uncomfortable chuckle. "Just enough space for a few people to commiserate together in." Face soothed. No surprise the kid was calm as could be, pleasant smile in place, even after Murdock's rambling had sold him down river. "But more importantly, no problems, beyond, you know, the occasional leak in the roof. But solid building material is hard to come by out here in the sticks."

"No problems?" Hannibal cut Face off before he could get going. Having Murdock on a run was enough. "So, how did gambling "fair and square" at this _club,_ " he emphasized the last word for good measure, "result in a money maker of a football game?" He waited, seeing how the hell Face was going to spin this one.

Simple. "They wanted to double or nothing their loss."

Hannibal's eyes narrowed on Face.

"Un-club, clubless, nada de cluba, no siree-bob, nothing, nada, less than nothing, a black hole in the club universe even. Yup a distinct lack of clubbage for sure."

"Can it, Murdock. I'm not buying it." Stunned and sullen, Murdock dropped back down to his cot and hung his head, staring at the floor. Hannibal sighed, ignoring Murdock for the moment and trying to get a grasp on just how much damage control was needed this time around. "And who exactly did you manage to challenge to a game of football because they wanted to double their money? And don't tell me this is because they caught you cheating at cards at your own damn club. That has all kinds of stupid written over it."

Face, God love him, or hate him as the case may be, rocked on his feet as his hands slid ever so casually into the pockets of his fatigues as Hannibal looked at him. "I wouldn't say caught, per se ... accused... slandered... maybe even defamed. But definitely not caught." The innocence was dripping. "Anyway, we were trying to resolve the misunderstanding without escalating the situation. Which is a feat in and of itself with these guys. I'd say we did a pretty damn good job all things considered. And the end result was that we agreed to work out our differences with a game of chance of a different sort. They just happened to choose football."

"And who exactly are you playing against?" Hell, Hannibal probably didn't want to know, but he'd heard too much already. And the last thing he needed right now was to be behind the eightball of a problem and wind up with Mifflin breathing down his neck again.

"Oh, just a few guys that were there. I didn't catch their names."

"Bullshit, Sergeant. You know I'll find out soon enough, right? So, I can't tell if you're trying to protect them, yourself, or you just really want to piss me off right now."

Face frowned, trying his best to recall that missing information and turned towards the pilot. "Murdock, you remember what that guy's name was? Hampton? Jones? No... J something..." He snapped his fingers as it came to him. "Jarvis."

"J. T. Jarvis."Murdock confirmed. "Big, tough, on his second tour. Once got thrown in the stockade for wrestling a jeep - and winning." Murdock didn't lift his head, but he did look over at Face. "Spider Murphy is his CO."

Hannibal couldn't help the dry, low chuckle that came out of him. "Spider's guys? That is who you're playing this game against?" What the hell were they thinking? That's right, Face and Murdock plus booze equaled no thinking.

That all too confident smile was back. "They chose the venue. Which, considering the relative circumstances that the discussion took place over, I only thought was fair."

Templeton Peck: Ambassador of goodwill.

But none of this explained why Face thought this was a sure-fire win. "And Murdock has never played?"

"Not even one inning."

"And, I expect, everything on the field _will_ be played on the up and up?" It was an order more than anything.

"Hannibal," Face implored, "even _I_ can't cheat at football." Which may or may not have been the point in the first place. "And I can get Reverend Taylor to hold the pot. Keep everyone honest."

"Fine." Fact was, Face had been cheating. The kid couldn't help himself, and somehow, by the grace of God he hadn't wound up beat to hell for it. That was a testament to his gift of gab in and of itself. "Get the good Reverend to hold the pot. This doesn't go beyond this football game." He didn't wait for Face to answer. It wasn't a request.

Face turned on his heel back towards the door BA had so nicely shoved him through a few minutes ago. "Now, if you'll excuse me, I've gotta go find the reverend... and a ball."

Hannibal watched him leave. Waiting until he was sure Face was good and gone before he turned to BA and Murdock. "He know what he's doing?" Because Hannibal sure as hell had his doubts.

Murdock didn't even bother to raise his head, he just nodded, then he was up, moving past Hannibal, out the door after Face.

BA shrugged. "Do he ever?"


	5. Chapter Four

"Wake up, Sergeant."

Cruiser groaned as the words somehow managed to fight past the fog in his head and settle into a nice harmony of Hannibal's voice and an order. Any doubts as to how serious the colonel was about waking his ass up that instant disappeared as the bed suddenly shook and rattled beneath him and forced Cruiser to reconsider sleep and open his eyes.

What the hell had they done last night?

Scratch that thought - Cruiser blinked and forced his eyes to focus, past the hungover burning and stinging, and out the small window in the room that barely had any light coming through it. Last night was, in fact, only a few hours ago. And now, judging from the look on Hannibal's face, they had shit to do. At the asscrack of dawn.

Great.

Cruiser pushed himself up and reached down to the floor grabbing the fatigues he'd dumped there "last night". He'd barely had his pants fastened before BA shoved a warm cup into his hands.

"Coffee." BA, the man of many words, managed to make that sound like a threat. Cruiser didn't bother to respond. Just took a sip of coffee and wound up coughing and spluttering. What should have been a wonderful way to greet an awful almost morning, turned out to be sludge he could feel coating his teeth and almost chew.

Throwing a glare over to Hannibal, Cruiser chewed his coffee and waited for the fun. Judging by the throat burning, gut punching strength of the coffee cud he was working on, the colonel wanted them sober, quick. Until then Hannibal was just leaning against the thin plywood walls, smoking a ratty ass cigar and waiting for them to get their act together.

Whatever he wanted, Hannibal's grin wasn't a good sign. Course, they'd done worse and survived the fallout from Hannibal. Finally Cruiser's brain was functioning enough to remember English. "Colonel."

"Explain." Short and to the point. Thank God.

"Which part?" At least it was just Hannibal and BA. There would be no dancing around all the details and trying to weave a story from Face and Murdock. There was no way Cruiser would be able to tolerate that shit right now. "The bear or the club?"

"Neither." Hannibal would know about both of those, and even if he didn't, all he had to do was ask. Face and Murdock both knew that if they didn't want Hannibal getting the answers he was looking for, then they needed to leave Cruiser out of it. "What I am curious about is how a night of blowing off steam turned into a gridiron challenge with Spider's men."

Cruiser just shrugged, his free hand fishing out the crumpled pack of smokes from his pocket. "Face was playing off the bottom of the deck."

"He left his lighter out, read the cards off it." BA corrected.

Cruiser flipped his lighter closed and narrowed his eyes on BA. The boy scout who couldn't imagine doing anything to disappoint Mommy Dearest knew how to cheat at cards. "Or that."

"Ain't for high stakes. Dudes didn't know."

"They figured it out quick enough." Everyone knew Face cheated. The only reason anyone played with him was because he tended to loose for a hand or two. Smart players left with their winnings. If you didn't, you were either just having fun or up to the challenge.

"Nah, they looking for an excuse to start trouble. Trace got beef with Face. From before."

Cruiser shrugged again. He'd never bothered to follow the fallout from when Face had been peddling drugs. It wasn't worth the headache to keep track of the score when it came to that enterprise. Face wasn't doing it now, so it didn't fucking matter. Until some jackass couldn't let things go, then it became his problem. If Trace wanted to start shit up in an effort to even whatever score he wanted to settle, well, they could take care of that.

"Is this going to be a problem?" There was nothing tangible that had changed, but Hannibal was different. More serious, more of a threat, maybe even more deadly than he had been two seconds ago. "Not one we can't handle."

"Spider's guy's just as big of fools as Face and Murdock. Ain't gonna let it go 'til someone makes 'em or they dead."

Hannibal nodded. It was just that simple. A quick glance to both of them was enough to make it clear he understood how bad the situation could get if it went unchecked. That was it, then like a fucking lightswitch, Hannibal was back. Grinning like the cocky bastard he was, he chomped on his cigar. "I'll see you boys in the team room in ten. Full gear and packs, we're going for a run." Giving them a little wave, he strode out calling back, "You can thank the brain trust when we're done."

Great. How much water could he guzzle in ten minutes and not vomit while running obstacle courses in a thirty pound rucksack? Face was so going to pay up for this, and it better be with Jose Cuervo and cigarettes.

*****

Six hours of running their over exuberant asses later and Hannibal was in the TOC. He had effectively traded in his rifle for a twenty cent Bic pen and a stack of paperwork that was ever growing. Paperwork was paperwork in every sense of the word; boring, mundane, rudimentary and the direct opposite of everything he thrived on. But with it came _silence_. Something that was on short supply in remote jungles of Vietnam.

Paperwork may be the bane of everyone's existence - especially after Face had touched more than his fair share of it. But for now, right at this moment, it brought some peace and quiet and order. Scribbling his name on the bottom of requisition forms didn't require ducking bullets or pleading his case or trying to make the upper brass bureaucrats understand that their politics were going to get his men killed on the field.

No, instead he scrawled his signature across the bottom of a form requesting new combat boots. He wouldn't get them through this channel, he knew that. But Face would through his channels, which on paper, would look a whole lot like what Hannibal and just filled out. It was tried and true and safe and it actually got the results they needed. However, if they got all of the equipment they needed and Hannibal never filled out a form, brows would raise that needed to remain interested in other things that didn't involve Hannibal and his team. So he scrawled his name when he needed to and played the game the only way he knew how: to win.

But most of all, it was quiet. There were no pissed off SEALs waiting to take off half of his team's heads, no body count, no CO telling him how much they'd screwed up his nice tidy war, and for now, at this moment, there was no impending mission looming over their heads. Which mean nothing for him to figure out and no minute detail for him to worry about missing that would result in having to write a letter home to his team's families.

Right now - in this moment - paperwork was peace. That is, until he heard the footsteps coming up to his door. Measured and paced just like the good ol' US of A taught. But instead of a knock like he'd expected - like rank and military standing brought - the door flung open without his say so.

"Attention soldier!"

Hannibal was up on his feet, snapping to attention before he even had a chance to put his pen down. "Yes, Sir!" Eyes dead ahead on the wall in front of him, he was looking past the man - no, the General - as the man circled the plywood desk. He carried the full weight of the US army with him in every step. Slow, measured, and intense scrutiny of every detail like Hannibal hadn't seen since his days as a Plebe.

"I've seen a hell of a lot of sorry ass, broken down, cluster fucks in my time, but your jack off attempt at proper military channels is the most Mother Mary fuck up I have ever had the misfortune of wandering across." General Reins was inches from him, leaning in close like a cobra ready to strike. "You wanna give me one good reason why I shouldn't have your pasty white ass up in front of a military tribunal?"

"Sir!" Hannibal barked, just like a buck recruit. "Then you'd have no one to share ten year old scotch with, Sir!"

Hannibal almost had the grin contained, but sure enough, he broke stance with a warm chuckle as Reins just stood there in front of him, face slate blank and expressionless. It was a full three seconds before a heavy calloused hand dropped on his shoulder. "You make a hell of a good argument, Smith. Now how about you stop playing West Point Cadet and break open that bottle." The General's teeth flashed white against the deep tan of his face. "I could use a good drink that we never had."

Less than a minute later, Hannibal had two very nice glasses and a bottle of scotch pulled out of the bottom drawer of his desk that every man on this base would envy if they knew it existed. And those few that didn't were paperpushers. Well, paperpushers and BA. But he was another story entirely.

Filling the glasses to two fingers worth, Hannibal slid one over to Reins as he sat down and both settled in. "It's been a while, Reins. How have you been?"

"My head's aching from all the pissing and moaning from the guys under me. My back's sore from carrying the dead weight officers who got their commissions on the friends and family plan. My ass is burning from all the smoke being blowing up it, and I'm dog ass tired from trying to explain that war isn't like the movies to politicians who couldn't tell a rifle from their asshole with both hands and a field guide." Reins took a sip and smiled. "So dead normal. How about you?"

Hannibal chuckled, shaking his head as he took a sip of the scotch and savored the burn. "I've got team that can't be stopped and a CO who wants to see the majority of them in the stockade. A mission success record that's unbeatable, and I just got my ass reamed for a mission that was a success, but looks messy on the books." Hannibal shrugged. "So dead normal for me too."

Hannibal met Reins the first day he'd landed in country. Fresh out of Westpoint, with more energy than brains, Hannibal had almost gotten himself killed in under twenty four hours. Reins had saved his ass and showed him how to turn theory, intellect, balls, and good old American military strategy into results. And how to get the job done without the upper brass getting their panties into enough of a twist to decommission him.

"To the military life and us fools who live it." Reins chuckled and held up his glass.

"God help us all." Hannibal returned the gesture and relaxed back in his chair, letting a friendly silence come over them.

These days Reins spent his time rubbing elbows with politicians. Hannibal had never been able to beat Reins at the waiting game. His skills had been too advanced when they'd met, and they would've only improved in the years since he'd taught Hannibal the nuances of the game. Finally, Hannibal just had to smile at the whole thing. "Just like the old days, huh, Reins? What brings you to my part of this little slice of heaven?"

"I like the slop your cook calls food. That and some groundwork for a mission." There was nothing in what he said, but a world in how it was said. The steady, piercing look let Hannibal know this mission was big, and bad, and men were expected to die. His men. And by proxy, Reins'.

"Well let's hear it."

"You still need to work on patience, kid." Reins shook his head. "Can't say much yet." There was more, he could see it in the way Reins shifted forward, and put his full attention on Hannibal. "But I can say, when the orders come down it will be you and Spider's men in the thick of it."

"That should be interesting." Suddenly his nice, quiet, peaceful paperwork had started to give way to a headache. It was important for crews to be able to put aside their differences in the field as it was. _Now,_ if they had something brewing that was this intense? The bullshit that had started at Face's not club, had better see its end on the gridiron.

"So should the apocalypse, doesn't mean I want to be there." Fishing his pack of smokes out of a his pocket, Reins gave him a few seconds. "Some of Spider's men have a beef with Sergeant Peck. In turn, your men have beef with them. Mifflin has a beef with you and any other s.o.b. who has a low threshold for bullshit." Reins waved his hand, cigarette smoking from between his fingers, in the universal "so on and so forth" gesture. "And me? I couldn't give a fuck about any of it. Unless it interferes with the job at hand."

"It won't." And if it did wind up interfering with the job at hand, Hannibal would have failed as their CO, and there would for damn sure be hell to pay. "There's a football game tomorrow to settle whatever score there is left between my guys and Spider's. They already know it doesn't go past that." He quirked an eyebrow at Reins. "If anyone has a different idea, I'll make sure to shut it down." His voice dropped a notch, letting that no nonsense hard edge slip into place. "Hard. So there's no more misunderstandings."

"It's festered too long for anything but trouble." The tone, the half smile, they eased the sting of missing something critical. The fact that Face had enemies wasn't news to Hannibal. Face's past, hell every member of his team's past, tended to rear its ugly head at the most inopportune time. Now was just the latest of a long list. Face's incidents however only seemed to be gaining speed instead of letting up like Hannibal would expect. Like steam building up until the explosion finally erupted. And now it was running the risk of jeopardizing a mission and taking them all out.

The risk was real enough and the mission important enough to have General Reins show up in person. It had Hannibal's jaw clenching tighter. He'd seen the danger, but he'd misjudged the distance. And mistakes like that are what got men killed.

Reins was still looking into him when he leaned back in his chair and blew a cloud of grey tinged smoke towards the tin roof. "You have the entire armed forces to pick from and you chose a pathological liar, a section eight waiting to happen, and not one, but two borderline psychopaths." Hannibal couldn't help but smile as Reins continued. "All of them should be locked up serving long term sentences in the stockade. Except for one guy who's such a straight arrow you could use him to slice Goddamned Wonder Bread and Bologna sandwiches." Reins shook his head and took a deep drag. The kind he used just before he hit you with the knockout punch. "Only a grade A, five star, fucking moron would have picked those men."

Hannibal was still chewing that over as Reins stood up, stubbed out his smoke and grinned. "Only a genius could make it work." Reins' hand slapped him on the back. "No one else could see what you did. Trust that thing that makes those sorry ass, fuck ups, the single best weapon this man's Army has to offer. Makes me proud to be a part of it. And you, son." He wasn't done, he never left it at that. "You've got some of the best damned instincts I've ever seen. Don't get lost in what the machine can do and miss what the parts need to function." Reins sighed as he strode towards the door. "I'll meet up with you in a few days. Right now I gotta go meet with Milktoast Mifflin and calm his tits."

Like that Reins was out the door and out of sight. Hannibal leaned back in his chair, finishing off the last of his scotch, and staring at the closed door as though it would reveal something he'd missed in the roshambo of insults and compliments. But in the end, the bottom line was that they were the best damned team the Army had seen. His men. The best. That made Hannibal sit a bit taller and shoulders push further back. Feeling heady, he had nothing else to do but turn back towards his paperwork. And think.

*****

Mail call was a sacred ritual around anything Vietnam. Hell anything military. Precious packages and letters were a reminder the world wasn't entirely full of shit eating bastards trying to kill you, and there was something waiting for you to come back to. Some _one_ real who loved you and cared.

Ray and BA never missed it. Even Cruiser managed to untangle himself from whatever booze riddled shenanigans he'd found himself mixed up in to make it. Not even a full eight hours of Hannibal's near death, learning lessons, managed to stop them. Covered in sweat, cuts, mud, and something that may have been water buffalo piss, they'd managed to drag their aching, sorry asses to see if they got one of those small trinkets from home.

Face didn't have a home back in the World, let alone anyone to write. It didn't bother him. In fact, sometimes that made things simpler. No worries outside of the immediate, no doting wife like Ray had to consume his attention or distract him on the battlefield. No mother or sister or other relative to try to save from the heartache of loss. His existence didn't matter.

The most interest he had in mail call was larcenous at best. But he wouldn't deprive even the likes of his worst American enemy the reminder of what awaited for them after this 'conflict' was over. Face cut off those thoughts though. There was no need for it and he was too damned tired to think about it.

God he hadn't been run like that since the time Murdock, Cruiser, and him had taken that borrowed chopper to Saigon. The fact that they had come back with fifty giant cartons of ice cream for everyone on base, and not drugs or hookers was probably the only reason Hannibal let them live that time. Face shook off the memory.

Mail call was something he didn't need. It lead to thinking and pipe dreams that had no place in a war-zone. They just lead to heartache. Murdock was the perfect reminder of that. As dedicated as every other soldier out here to the reminders of their loved ones, when they were taken away, it only hurt worse.

Cruiser had been the one to tell Murdock his CO wanted him. Just a few words from a telegram, informing him his grandparents, the only family Murdock had, had died in a fire. A few days later Ray handed him a nondescript envelope. A copy of a will naming Murdock as sole heir, two obituaries and two death certificates. It was the last piece of mail Face had seen Murdock get.

Now, when it came time to receive envelopes and packages from halfway around the world, they always managed to find some sort of distraction away from the festivities. An unspoken agreement. Today was no exception. Well other then they were dog tired and run almost into the ground. It had taken an embarrassing amount of time and groaning to get on top of an empty deuce and a half. When they finally did, Face let his legs dangle over the sides and leaned back, letting the sun hit his already tanned skin. Murdock was panting with the effort as he dropped on his back next to Face.

"I ain't been this sore since the great Saigon ice cream incident." Too exhausted to move, Murdock could still talk.

Face just chuckled and let the silence hang a bit, enough for both of them to catch their breath. "You know, semi trailers are more comfortable than the tops of choppers." He didn't bother to look at Murdock. Less than a year ago, that first meeting between the two of them, Face had been sure that Murdock was going to beat the hell out of his drunk ass for climbing up his chopper. Instead, Murdock had just taken his booze.

"Nah, the choppers are way more comfy." He could hear the grin in Murdock's tired drawl. "Just harder to keep from sliding off when you're all shit faced."

"Gravity's a fickle bitch when she wants to be."

Still on his back, Murdock lit himself a cigarette. They had some time to kill before they needed to be anywhere. And every reason to lay low. The base commander, Mifflin, was making Hannibal's life a paperwork hell, and that was trickling downstream. No more leeway on showing up a few minutes late for assignment or cutting a corner here and there. Didn't matter what blond or how voluptuous she was. It was making things a bit mundane.

"Tell me about it. When she gets pissed at me, it involves plummeting towards Terra Firma at terminal velocity." The off handed tone at the idea of a fiery plane wreck was disconcerting Then again it was Murdock.

"If you'd stop trying to beat her at the one-up-manship game, you may have a better chance of surviving." Face let his aching muscles relax with that deep satiating heat. They'd escaped that fate more times than he liked to count.

Murdock twisted his neck to look at him, squinting against the blazing sun. "I don't wanna beat her. I just need her to do my bidding." Judging by the loopy smile, that made sense to him.

"Perhaps you need to sweeten the pot. You know, entice her more."

"No need to tempt her, Face. She gets me." He was leaning back again, looking up at the blue sky. "Always has. Everything makes sense up there. Lift, thrust, mass, acceleration, torque, gravity; all of them just different instruments in the band that I get to lead." He hadn't moved, but there was the odd sensation that Murdock was drifting further away with each word. "And the music they make. Like the Stones and The Beatles and Hendrix and Mozart, all rolled into one slick metal package. That may or may not kill you if you hit the wrong note." There was a flash, just a glimpse of something calm and sure, a rare second of peace for the man. "But the feeling, of making her sing like that for me? Better than anything else in the world."

Face had seen Murdock in his element in the air. It didn't matter the danger; bullets, bombs, fire, and brimstone. Murdock lived more in those moments than in the entirety of his waking life on the ground.

"Nothing like it when it all comes together." He agreed. Face knew that feeling from his own experience. Running a con, seeing it before he made it happen, all those players that needed to be lined up just so and made to sing that perfect note. It was a magical moment when all was said and done. "Few bumps in the road just make the end result that much better."

"Man, you sound like Hannibal. He likes the bumpy road too."

"That worked to my advantage." The back of Face's hand hit Murdock's arm in a request for a smoke. Waiting until he got one, and leaning up just enough to light it. "Besides, you have to admit it's more fun."

"It ain't dull, that's for sure. Bumpy beats boring hands down." Murdock sat up, draping his long arms over his knees and let his smoke dangle from his lips "Don't really care how I go, so long as it's not dull."

"I never really think about it." It was a rare moment when he wasn't watching what he was saying. Murdock and he had known each other for under a year and more had happened in that time than friendships that survived a lifetime back in the World. "It's gonna end, I don't particularly care how. But I don't need to be answering to anyone but myself on the details that go into it."

"I know how I don't want to go." The sudden coldness from Murdock made him want to shiver inspite of the oppressive heat. As quick as it had come it was gone. "Sides, I figure given what we're doing and where, it's not gonna be ordinary. Something like an exploding yak or slipping on a banana peel and landing on a deadly snake, then rolling onto a land mine and having a coconut fall and knock me on the head, killing me." He raised an eyebrow at Face. "Would love to see the official report write up on that one."

"I am not dying of a snake bite." Face took a long drag off the cigarette, letting the nicotine filled smoke burn his lungs before exhaling. "I'm sure I could get my hands on the report and make it live up to your post mortum expectations."

"Could you add something about clog dancing strippers? You know, just to make it a lively read?" The crazy grin was back. "I'd be the only guy in all of Vietnam who had clog dancers."

"I'll even give them nipple tassels if you want."

"Clogs don't have nipples."

"You might be missing the point of dancers then." Face frowned.

"Or you really don't get clogging."

Face's frown deepened, jaw working for a moment before he let it go. "Right."

Throwing his head back Murdock laughed. Not a polite laugh, or a mild one. But a real, bone deep, belly laugh. "Awe, don't worry about it." Murdock dropped an arm on Face's shoulder as he managed to get a few words out in between peals of laughter. "I don't think the pentagon is ready for both clog dancing and strippers."

If he had more to say it was lost in helpless laughs. By the time the lanky bastard got it together, his cigarette was half gone.

"Thanks Face. I needed that." Finally able to breath, Murdock took a deep drag.

"Mmm, I bet." Yup, there was nothing more that Face liked than providing an unsuspecting source of amusement.

For awhile there was nothing but the two of them alone and silent, refusing to think about life past the right here, right now. Under the warm heat, Face almost fell asleep. _Almost._ He knew how bad that shit would be right now.

Stretching and stifling a yawn Face was up and moving. It was only then that he noticed Murdock had gone still. Looking off into the distance, forgotten cigarette threatening to burn his fingers. It happened sometimes. Sort of like Murdock would get lost in his head.

"Come on buddy, we have a football field to prepare."

For a minute, Face wasn't sure if he was going to get up. He was about to repeat himself and figure out how to get him back when Murdock blinked and in one motion dropped his smoke and stood up, hands in his pockets. "Sounds great."

Just like that he was back. Perfectly fine, except for the slight twitch in his cheek when he smiled. Face looked at him for a moment, eyes narrowing at that sudden change. Sometimes Murdock was the bigger con man.

"Sure." Either Murdock would talk or he wouldn't.

Choosing the not option, the man scrambled down the side of the deuce. Why take the ladder when you could act like George of the Jungle.

Using the ladder like the dignified soldier he was, Face followed suite at a slower, more forgiving pace that his aching muscles appreciated. "Hey Murdock how much do you want to bet that I can get a football of Nurse Lola?"

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Please note that the prologue has changed. The originally posted prologue was written several years ago. Two hundred pages later we have finally gotten full circle in the story, and a few edits had to be made to keep it accurate for the unforeseen twists and turns the guys took us on. All things considered they were relatively minor changes, but everyone may want to have a look.


	6. Chapter 6

There was a sound like a sack full of bricks slamming into flesh at terminal velocity, then a grunt of pain and _splash!_ Through the mud in his eyes, Murdock saw BA pinning the man to the ground. A flash of movement. Something slipped through the enemies fingers, tumbling through space. Murdock moved without thought, long arms reaching, legs pumping, fingertips clutching for the object, pulling it close and protecting it with his body. Then the shockwave hit, jarring him. Noise, bodies, and mud flew around him. Time slowed down. Nothing but instinct had him covering the sphere.

Face down in the Vietnamese mud, Murdock couldn't feel or see anything and his ears were ringing. Vaguely, he was aware of shifting and movement around him. Then hands landed on his shoulders and turned him onto his back. Had it mattered? He stared up into Face's worried eyes and BA's dark, serious ones. Cruiser was there, too, he could hear him yelling something. Shit, it had to be bad if the medic was here. They were too quiet, too stunned.

Not wanting to see the looks on their faces, Murdock let his eyes close. He had failed.

"Hell _yes_!"

Murdock opened his eyes just as Face jumped to his feet. "Hell Yes! Interception!"

BA's giant hand grabbed Murdock's shoulder and hauled him to his feet. Looking down at his hands, Murdock grinned. Well, look at that. He was still holding the football Face had conned of off the lovely nurse Lola. Hot damn.

"Timeout." BA snarled over the rain and the voices, dragging Murdock to the sideline. It wasn't until he was standing in what might loosely be described as a huddle with the rest of the team that BA let him go. All eyes were on the figure crouched in the middle.

Clasping his hands together, Face began his own version of "Win one for the Gipper". "Okay, guys. It's the bottom of the fourth quarter, just under a minute to play and we're down by seven. Now's the time when you're really going to have to dig down deep and-"

"Ain't gotta dig down to nothing Jack!" BA snarled. "Been playing hard. You the one who said we couldn't lose to them. You the one who got 'em mad when you got Marcon sent to Japan for 3 months. You the one who didn't check Marcon's replacement! And you the one who bet them our R and R fund!" BA pointed a small tree-sized finger at Face. "Now you better tell us how we gonna win this. Understand!"

Now, Murdock figured BA had a reason to be mad, but there was no reason to put it all on Face. Sure Face hadn't noticed that man replacing a college football star, and the newest member of the SEAL pack, happened to be Earl "Mad Dog" Kaslowski, former Pro bowl linebacker. Come on, what were the chances?

And yeah, they could've ignored the SEALS when they accused Face of cheating at their 'friendly' poker game. And perhaps Murdock shouldn't have told the biggest, meanest-looking one that his mother had cheated with a mentally retarded, physically deformed sibling. But he knew that even BA knew you couldn't just let people go around and accuse your best friend of cheating. Never mind that he _was_.

Not that now was the opportune time to point that out. They were in the middle of the biggest comeback in U.S. history, after all, and distracting BA with a tangent with less than sixty seconds to go to claim victory wasn't the way to make good on it.

"How was I supposed to know they had _two_ ringers?" Face shot back. And hadn't that been a surprise. SEALs were SEALs - they weren't supposed to _play_ anything. And _one_ set of unexpected transfer orders _should_ have been enough to seal this deal!

Not that twenty-one unanswered points was _playing_.

"You and BA are supposed to be ringers!" Ray's voice was sharp and tight, and oddly complementary to the big guy's. Not that Murdock could blame him for being upset. If Murdock had had plans to fly his lovely wife to their R and R destination and lock-down in a cozy hotel room, he'd have been a mite touchy about his friend gambling it away, too.

Naturally, Face's answering glance was all innocence. _Don't look at the man behind the curtain._

"You better have something real good up your sleeve, Face, or you're gonna pay!"

Of course, Murdock thought with a grin, the big guy had plans for that money, too. Not many people knew that BA faithfully sent half his pay home to his Mamma. Fewer still knew he wanted nothing more than to buy her something special while on R and R.

"Alright, alright, alright." Face raised his hands to ward off the rest of the attack.

"Aw, don't worry, big guy. Face will make sure you get plenty of money to buy your Mom something real pretty." Murdock's grin widened even as BA's arm twitched in an aborted punch. No, he wasn't crazy, but it was just so much fun to derail the big guy – especially when Face was already pushing it. Besides, he was being nice. He really, really was.

"Take it easy, BA, we've got this." Face assured with a charming smile. "Besides, do you really think I would make a bet that I couldn't guarantee?"

There was a rare moment of Gestalt-like clarity as every last person in the huddle answered Face in unison: "Yes!"

Face looked as though he'd taken a blow to the gut before realizing he was peddling his act to the wrong crowd. And, more importantly, that the clock was ticking down. "Okay, Murdock, you have another dead-man's sprint in you?"

"Sure, Face, you know I can run for days and days. That's why I ain't been beat to death yet." Murdock smiled, wondering if anyone understood just how true that was. Funny, that stuff really didn't bother him when the rest of the guys were around.

"Man, whatchya' planning for the fool?"

"Alright, good." Face smiled that shit-eating grin he got when he was about to sell something ridiculous. Like ice to a group of Eskimos in a cold snap. "Now, I know you guys aren't all Catholic, but Murdock-" Even in the pouring rain, covered in mud, with the odds stacked against him, there was reverence in the way Face was pitching this. "Do you know what a Hail Mary is?"

*****

BA crouched low, one hand in the mud as the line formed beside him, the SEALs setting up opposite. This was a battle he understood. Get the ball and move it where you wanted it. Stop the other guys from doing the same. Simple, clean; a contest of skill. That's how it was supposed to be. But like everything else in this God forsaken country, football had been made more complicated. Only this time, BA thought, lips curling at the defender unfortunate enough to line up opposite him, it wasn't politics that messed it up. It was his teammates.

Face, and his petty ante, street-level grifting – good for keeping a brother alive in the 'hood, not so good for rulin' the world like Face and Hannibal was always tryin'. Murdock and his fool mouth runnin' all the damn time. Wasn't so bad when it was just himself getting' harped on, but the crazy man lost whatever sense was in his head when guys went after his friends – 'specially when it was Face.

BA shoulda known it'd be trouble when he first saw Face cheating. He'd known there weren't no way the SEALs would let that go if they saw, but it'd been small stakes and he'd figured it was keeping them out of worse trouble. Like that mess with the General's car. His Mamma wouldn't have liked it, though. BA didn't much like it, neither, but if he wasn't goin' to call out his friends over fifteen bucks and some beers, he wasn't gonna leave 'em in the lurch after.

Behind him, Face called out some nonsense like he was giving an audible and BA heard Murdock shift. Standing well back from the line, Jarvis waved Jacobs up close on Murdock, that was a mistake. Murdock was faster.

"Hike!"

BA beat them all off the line. He dropped Trace on his ass in the mud and pushed Kasowski back and out, keeping after him when the man tried to spin past. Behind him, he heard Ray grunt, followed by a bigger splash-slide and wondered if Ray had gone down, but the SEALs weren't celebrating a sack so he kept going. Somewhere out to the side, he heard a curse – Jacobs, probably losing Murdock down the sideline. One-one-thousand, two—

Jacobs cursed again, louder, and BA shoved Kasowski back, getting some space to look for Murdock.

Face whooped. "All right, Murdock!" Just as BA caught sight of the lanky pilot making the catch in the endzone. "Way to—"

Without the frantic splashing of six people in close quarters, the collision was easy to hear, even over the rain. BA whirled with Face's pained grunt in his ears, anger propelling him forward to yank Jarvis away. "Hey, man!" Only long ingrained sportsmanship rules kept him from swinging on the SEAL. "The play done. You do that again, I'll beat you like a rented mule."

"What? You afraid the pussy can't take it?"

Without a thought, still riled, BA planted his hands on Jarvis' chest and shoved. Satisfaction curled through him when the SEAL landed on his ass. "Afraid I'm gonna hafta rip your arms off and beat you with 'em." Peripherally, he was aware of Ray moving to Face and Murdock and Jacobs jogging back. A part of him wanted to finish this before they made it, keep Murdock out of it, but looking into Jarvis' eyes, BA knew it'd take a knock-out. Now, BA didn't mind knocking Jarvis on his ass after that foul stunt, but fighting didn't have no place in football.

Trace stepped up to Jarvis' side as Jacob regained his feet, bouncing a little on his toes as he eyed BA. "If he can't take a few hits, maybe Pretty Boy shouldn't be on the field."

"Bunch of fuckin' pussies," Trace agreed, eyes hard and calculating more than angry. "Cheatin' at cards and bitchin' when it comes to playing real sports. Y'all aren't nothing but talk."

BA growled.

Ray said, "Back off. Play the game, Jarvis."

"Bring it, Brenner."

Face laughed. "Nice, Jarvis." His voice was strained, breathy. But the kid was sitting up on his own, able to push himself to his feet as he smiled at the Basic Underwater Demolition man. "I mean that. Really taking that win back to do your Trident proud."

"Let's play, man," BA interrupted. Murdock had reached the edge of their group and was staring at the way Face was holding his ribs with wide, dark eyes that never meant anything good. "Gimme the ball, fool."

Murdock danced out of the way before BA could close, grin wide and sudden. "I don't know, BA, sounds like the little BUDS here wanna quit. Guess since they're starting to lose they wanna take their ball and go home. Maybe we should give 'em a chance to forfeit. That way they won't have to explain to all the other tough guys how they got beat by us regular type guys. Get their he-man macho badges taken away."

Trace, who'd started drifting back, charged forward, stopped by Jarvis' arm. Jarvis added, "You and your pet monkey startin' more shit you can't back up, you cocksucker, or you finally realize your place is on your knees?"

BA hadn't been watching Murdock when Jarvis had started talking, but he was by the time Jarvis finished. So he saw the way Murdock's face went white and still, the way his lips pinched then twisted, and the way his eyes flattened then flared. Even if he didn't have enough time to register any of it as more than "pissed."

BA lunged as Murdock hauled back the arm with the ball. His arms went up as Murdock's flashed forward. He felt the ball skim past, saw Murdock's wrist follow through the flick, heard the slap of pigskin on flesh. Then his arms wrapped around Murdock and he hauled the pilot off his feet, pivoting to face the likely attack.

He wasn't expecting the frustrated yell from Face. "Fucker! Get off me!"

"Shut the fuck up!" Ray, arms around Face, got his feet planted and pushed, swinging Face off his feet and dumping them both in the mud. "Face, stand down!"

"You're a dead man!" Jarvis promised, nose gushing blood. Trace's hand kept him from charging.

"And you're ugly." Murdock's eyes fixed on Jarvis, lanky frame coiled tight, but he wasn't pulling against BA's grip.

"Let's just finish the game, man," BA said.

Jacobs picked up the ball and tossed it to Jarvis. "We gonna play, Cap?"

Jarvis' gaze darted from Murdock, still and silent in BA's grasp, to Face, who'd finally stopped fighting Ray, and the SEAL laughed.

"Sure, let's play." He tossed the ball so it bounced off Ray's back.

*****

"Alright, everybody ready?" The pure adrenaline of seeing every detail play out in his head, perfectly, had Face's heart pumping hard as he put his hand out in the middle of the huddle. His smile widened as, one by one, every member of his team put their hand on top of his - signaling their confidence in his plan, their willingness to follow his lead. Knowing his team could and would do their parts without fail, that their belief in Face outweighed their doubts, just verified Face was right to be completely and utterly confident in his plan.

They were not only going to outplay the SEALS, they were going to out think them. They were going to leave them beat, broke, dejected and forlorn, and it was all going to happen because of Face. After the shit Trace had said, that was the very least those jackasses deserved.

"Break!" At his word, they broke the huddle, just like back in high school, and headed back to the game. He didn't watch them - he didn't need to. They would go where he'd pointed them.

Combat boots squelching through the mud of some piss poor piece of land in the middle of some forgotten jungle, Face had no doubt they could and would pull this off. He was going to make damn sure they did.

The rain had picked up intensity. The sound of the needle-sharp drops hitting the ground and splattering, the growling men lining up in front of him, drowned out the steady stream of muttered curses and threats that had been part and parcel of this particular game since word one. He crouched behind BA and a strange feeling of calm slipped over Face as he took a deep breath.

It was a rare second of complete clarity.

He was supposed to be here, doing exactly this - fighting with his team. He belonged here.

Grinning, Face looked to his right at Ray, set and ready next to BA. He'd be able to take Trish somewhere special after this.

"Hut One!" When he looked to his left, there was Cruiser and Murdock, about to come into women, booze, and comics or whatever-the-hell Murdock spent money on.

"Hut two!"

Eyes now focused over BA -he'd spoil his Mother rotten - he saw the play unfold in his mind. It was fucking perfect.

"Hike!"

Face started to close his hands a soon as he shouted the word. BA moved with deceptively fast speed and he needed to be ready. Sure enough, the wet pigskin ball was right there.

He tightened his fingers around it and dropped back a few feet with precision and ease as BA popped up and plowed in Romanowski, sending the man sprawling backwards in a wash of water and mud. Cocking back his arm, Face left the rush to BA and Cruiser and looked for Murdock.

Just as planned, the pilot ran down the sideline, arms up, ready for the pass, Jarvis glued to his heels. Face pumped hard and, God bless his crazy ass, Murdock made a flagrant jumping grab, using his body to pull the ball tight, and hopefully unseen, to his chest. At least half of the SEALs descended on Murdock as the man hunched over and bobbed left then right, determined to make it to the end zone.

Face didn't stick around to find out if he was successful. Hugging a ball that had never left his hands to his chest, he bent over, catching his breath, and launched himself forward. Trace was only a few feet from him, eyes blazing with hate. But as much as he may have wanted to lay Face out, there was only a few seconds to stop Murdock. There was plenty of time for revenge.

Trace yelled as he veered away, clumps of heavy mud kicking up from his feet as he barreled towards Murdock.

Face couldn't help but grin as Murdock went down, buried under two or three men because the SEALs knew one wasn't enough. And that left him free-and-clear. Still hunched over, Face darted forward, towards the open space BA had cleared on the field. Then he locked eyes with Jacobs just in time to see the man's gaze dart to the pigskin in his hands.

Face put on a burst of speed, Jacobs was angling to intercept him before the end zone, gesturing to someone else - Kasowski, maybe - and a moment later he felt hands brush his arm. He twisted away. Five yards left to go and a pile of bodies before him with Jacobs coming up fast. He could go through and maybe get stopped, or go around, and give Jacobs a chance to catch him, or -

He grinned, catching BA's eye, and was ready when the big guy's hands propelled him forward - one step, two, then plant - he got a little extra spring off Trace's shoulder, pushing up and over and into a tuck, Trace's swipe missing his ankles. He flew, training and muscle memory taking over - who would have thought the nuns' determination to turn out well-rounded children would pay off in spades - and executed a perfect forward somersault. All that was left was the landing.

He couldn't see through the rain to spot his landing, so he made his best guess. Clutching the ball tight, Face stretched his legs toward the ground and missed. His feet slipped and gravity pulled him face first into the giant mud pit of an end zone.

A resounding _splat_ sent up a geyser of mud that came raining back down on him - and everyone else within a five-foot radius.

Without thinking, he bounced back to his feet. Arms above his head, Face waved the football, laughing and shouting like a madman. He didn't even think to wipe the mud off his face. Seconds later, he was mobbed by his exhausted, filthy, elated teammates. They were shouting and only broke the bear hug long enough for BA and Ray to hoist Face up on their shoulders.

It wasn't the first time Face had won a game, but he'd be good and God-damned if this wasn't the sweetest victory ever.

Trace and Jarvis looked ready to kill, but there wasn't anything they could do as Father Taylor - the one man both teams had trusted to hold the cash - handed a large stack of bills to a smiling, bleeding Murdock.

The pilot yelled "yeeehaw!" - which, seriously, people actually said that? - and did a little hopping dance, waving the money up at Face. "Hey, Face! We're going to take some extra people on leave. To be precise, we're gonna take some long dead great Americans with us! Don't ya just love history?"

Face threw his head back and laughed. They had won. Trace and Jarvis could take their fury and outrage and revenge plots and shove it up their asses because Smith's Merry Band of Misfits had won two weeks in the sun and surf in the real world. It was time to celebrate.


	7. Chapter 7

Murdock launched himself into Jarvis, taking the stupid SEAL down at the waist in a flurry of limbs. He grunted with the effort and kicked his legs out, pinning Jarvis to the ground. Murdock's head snapped to the side from a punch before he could get a grip on Jarvis' wrist. He was out of limbs and Jarvis was still fighting. Blood dripping down from his forehead already, Murdock, off balance and in no position to throw a punch, so slammed his head into Jarvis' with a resounding crack!

Moments ago Murdock had been drinking and celebrating their one-of-a-kind, down-in-history win with his team. They deserved it. They'd pulled off the impossible. Again. But sure as shit the SEALs just couldn't accept second place. They'd strutted in and started throwing insults around. All well and good until they'd crossed that line. Murdock returned the favor by throwing a lit cigarette in Jarvis's Face.

Go time.

"You want payback? Huh? That covers interest. Now let's talk about principal, you spineless, little, fuck weasel," he spat, and just for good measure, he bounced Jarvis rock head off the dirt floor.

In the background Murdock could heard the mish mash of the entire not-club in a heavy brawl. The sound flesh slamming into the plywood walls, table legs breaking, cue sticks splintering, glass shattering, all the classics.

Out of the corner of his vision, he saw Cruiser hurl himself off of a table and into Trace. More pounding 'thumps', shoddy wood furniture breaking over and under backs, and ground out cursing that only Cruiser was capable of was all Murdock needed to know that they were still in the game.

Under him Jarvis tried to plant his feet, looking for the leverage to throw Murdock. See, now that just wouldn't do. Grabbing Jarvis by the face and bounced the back of the his head off the floor twice more, for good measure. That rock hard head could take it. Jarvis whipped his elbow around, catching Murdock on the jaw with just enough force to smart, and piss him off.

Dropping low and Murdock wedged his forearm into Jarvis' windpipe, putting enough body weight into it to cut off most of the air.

"Listen up shitface, 'cause I'm about to tell you something that could save your sorry ass life one day. Hating someone 'cause of their skin color is moronic." Murdock pressed a little harder. "Spewing that fucked up shit in front of their friends is Goddamned suicidal."

Sitting up Murdock punched the stupid idiot in the jaw. Before he could swing something or someone crashed into him.

"Fucker." Cruiser growled, okay it was a someone. They tripped over each other, fighting to find balance again. It didn't happen. Murdock wound up beneath the temperamental sergeant in a growing pile of A-Team limbs.

"Get off me!" Face demanded from the wall where Trace and a few friends had him pinned. Murdock managed to shove himself up only to be greeted by a five pissed off SEALs who were all staring down at them.

"Do you guys know any Beetles?" Sometimes, his mouth tried to kill him, or maybe it was his brain...

Cruiser managed to find his feet again and buried his shoulder in the midst of a giant, overbuilt SEAL and all it earned him was a growl. "Oh, fuck." Mortality had finally made itself known to Cruiser.

"Rub his belly!" Murdock yelled. "No wait, that's for alligators -" He was midstream when movement out of the corner of Murdock's eye caught his attention. He was moving before he'd even had time to realize it. Getting to his feet, Murdock slammed his shoulder into Cruiser's side in a sloppy tackle that had the sergeant grabbing at him on the way down. They'd managed to roll under a table before Murdock had a chance to say, "Duck."

And that was it. Several weeks worth of some of Face's finest scams had gone into procuring the jukebox that BA was holding above his head. An almost distraught "No" rang from across the room as Face saw what was about to happen .

BA sent it airborne, at high speed straight into the group of SEAL's. The sound and sight of a Wurlitzer impacting into muscle bound meatheads was something Murdock would keep forever as one of those truly spectacular memories.

"Five on two ain't fair odds, suckers."

BA didn't even bother to inspect his handy work. Not even a SEAL built like a wall was going to survive a jukebox to the body without seeing little birdies tweeting around their heads.

Murdock watched, still under the table with Cruiser, as BA stomped to the other side of the room, eyes fixed on Trace and the group that had Face. He didn't bother stopping for things like chairs or people. He just tossed those out of his way, like Godzilla batting away unsuspecting houses in Tokyo.

Scrambling out from under the table Murdock was booking it towards BA and several unhappy patrons. He was just half a step behind Cruiser when the commanding and out of place shouts of MP's rang through. Even as the MP's tackled him and Cruiser, yanking their arms behind their backs, using more force than was needed, and cuffing one wrist in and one wrist out - thanks guys - Murdock's only regret was not getting to hear the new Rolling Stones single Face had gotten for his now defunct jukebox. A few seconds later, the entire place was filled with the boring armbands as everyone joined them face down, on top of the carnage of what used to be the best Not Club they'd had.

XXXXX

There were very few places in Vietnam that one could consider friendly, neutral territory. Especially when it came to the elite. Especially, Hannibal mused, when it came to elite knuckleheads who couldn't figure out how to bury a hatchet and needed their superior officers to excise the stupid. But when one did, one wound up in the Officer's Club.

Not a place Hannibal spent too much time, to be honest. He'd found a less structured environment frequently served his purposes best. But there were exceptions, and the present clusterfuck was one of them.

And like any good soldier, Hannibal had come prepared. He'd graduated West Point, after all; prepared was in his blood. Two chipped coffee mugs that he'd long ago liberated from the mess tent and some good old Johnny Walker Red. He couldn't help but smirk and shake his head just a bit in anticipation of how good that scotch burn was going to feel sliding down his throat. He saved it for special occasions. Never had he envisioned that special occasion being himself sitting down with Garth "Spider" Murphy. But he was the man in charge of the SEAL team that currently wanted Hannibal's team's heads. And arguably rightfully so.

But he wasn't there for that. Neither one of them were. Spider took one look at the cup of scotch on the table and shook his head. "Awe shit, that bad?" Settling down as best as one could on the milk crate that was serving as a chair, he wasn't really asking a question.

Spider was a hard-ass, dirt-eating son of a bitch, and as street smart as a carpetbagger. In a firefight, Hannibal would be glad as hell to have the man coming in as back up. He wasn't much of a conversationalist.

"The scotch will be great Spider." Hannibal held up his mug in a little grunt-to-grunt salute. "Might ease the headache our men that are going to give us."

"If this is all you've got, you're falling way the fuck short."

Spider wasn't the kind of man to sit around and enjoy the delicacies and nuances of finely aged scotch. He was the type of man who went to sleep with his boots on so that he was ready to kick as and eat nails in the morning. He reached for the mug and took a gulp from it. The fact that he even raised a brow at the cup, was enough to let Hannibal know that he appreciated the statement that was being made with that caliber of liquor out here.

"What a Goddamned clusterfuck."

Spider did have a way with words. Hannibal took a sip of the scotch, savoring it the way that it truly deserved as Spider's sentiments settled around them. "Yeah, and none of them are gonna straighten it out on their own." It was simple and true and something that they could no longer ignore. They dealt dealt with their teams or their teams dealt with it. And that would only lead to a mountain of paperwork and a jail cell. And that was just a waste of damn fine talent.

"I already told my fuck heads to knock their shit off. Trace has got some kind of hard on for Peck because of something that happened a million years ago and Jarvis, he just fucking hates everyone. They're all too Goddamned young, dumb, and full of cum to fucking listen. Peck cheating at cards was just the excuse they needed to up the stakes." Spider downed the last of his Scotch with a grimace.

"Face always cheats at cards. Kid can't help it. But it's going to get out of control and I'm all about knocking young and dumb right out of their thick heads."

"Fuck the sweet talk Hannibal, we have to break them, before their pissant teenaged girl drama gets us all killed doing Reins' little mission."

Hannibal couldn't help but smile. "My thoughts exactly." Between the two of them, their jerk off's were in a world of hurt. And every ounce of it deserved.

"Yeah, you got any plans on how to deal with our special little snowflakes?" The pure malice in Spider's grin made it clear he was hoping for a yes.

"I can think of several things that may teach them a thing or two about self restraint and brotherly love." Hannibal let his mind drift for a moment as he took a deep inhale of sweet cigar smoke. Lessons tried and true that spoke to the most thick headed of recipients. If they had thought for a moment that Hannibal's creativeness knew no bounds, they were going to be introduced to a whole new definition of military ingenuity at its finest.

"How about we make those plans fucking 3D and live when your boys get back from leave." With nothing less than an evil wink Spider added. "I'm all in for helping."

Matching that with his own grin Hannibal was just about to reply when the door flew open. Reflexes honed from days of illegal hooch in the dorms at West Point had him palming the bottle and hiding it under the table.

Good damned thing because it was none other than Mifflin looking like someone had just pissed in his Wheaties.

Great. Hannibal didn't even have to ask, or have Mifflin open his cotton stuffed mouth, and he already knew what the topic of this little interruption was going to be. Judging from the set of his shoulders Spider knew too.

XXXXX

"I don't give a damn how many four star asses you've kissed Smith. This is my base and my command." Shoulders back and board straight Mifflin barked at Hannibal like a drill sergeant going after a phleb. The quaint little problem solving shindig he'd been having with Spider had transgressed into this nice little ass chewing in Mifflin's office. "You know what that means, Smith? " A step closer and he was almost nose to nose with Hannibal.

"Sir, yes, sir!" It was all old habit, drilled in by the best West Point and the Army had to offer. This was Mifflin's world. What he wanted, happened. End of story.

A step closer and inches from his face, Mifflin stared him down. "What does it mean, boy?" Each words was metered out for maximum impact

Hannibal kept his stare locked on the door in front of him, just over Mifflin's shoulder. He hated being referred to as 'boy'. That's what his Father called him, just to make sure he knew his place in things. But Hannibal wasn't a boy he was a trained professional and his eyes didn't budge.

Instead he told Mifflin exactly what he wanted to hear and he meant every word of it. Loud enough for the two morons just beyond these walls, out front to hear. "Sir, this is your world, sir. I'm happy to be here."

"Damn straight." The man stepped back, assessing his impact from a few paces. Plotting out how best to drive his point home. Had to hand it to him, what he lacked in ability to inspire and lead, he made up for in tenacity and breaking moral.

"Your men are nothing. Amoral, psychopathic liars, and criminals. Every damn one of them. Even that tag-a-long flyboy. You figure out a way to control them or I'll have them in the stockade for the rest of their miserable lives."

"Sir, yes, sir!" The response was automatic. And Mifflin had the authority to make the threat a reality. It was harsh one, but it was true as the blood spilled on the battlefield. There was no room for the games.

"If those animals act up again I'll have your rank, your career, and your team. And I'll ruin every damn one of them." It was a promise. "Dismissed."

Snapping off a salute Hannibal turned on his heel and marched out like a soldier on parade. Once outside he pointed to his two idiots and jerked his thumb behind him. They damn well knew the signal to follow him.

Jaw set, Hannibal marched them across the compound. Not saying a damn word. Face and Murdock would think it was a scare tactic. It wasn't. At the moment he didn't trust himself to speak. It wasn't until he was in his office, standing behind his desk that he spoke in a tightly controlled voice.

"Explain."

Face took a step forward, an explanatory hand waving out in front of him. "Self defense, Colonel." It explained everything. Just like that twinkle in his too young blue eyes, that told Hannibal just how full of shit Face was.

"Yeah, he's right Hannibal." Murdock stepped up right next to Face, adding to the fray, "I don't think they liked my football playing much, so they came in all wild eyed and snorting like a bunch of ugly, bad tempered bulls. So we had to defend ourselves right? Can't enjoy Hawaii if we're all twisted up into little pretzels shapes, right?" It was a half truth that Murdock was dressing up.

"I shouldn't have thrown that first punch. But I guess it was actually a lit cigarette and then a tackle that I threw first. But yeah... um that's... ah not the point." Murdock tried to reel it back. "Won't happen again..."

Face just raised his brow, waving at Murdock as though it explained everything away. Face may be loving every moment of the high he got from a well woven tale. But Murdock was anything but well and woven at the moment, and Face knew that all too well.

Hannibal had seen the report from the MP's and the story Face had feed them. It was a good thing Face hadn't had a chance to run wild with that.

"Stow it." Hannibal leaned his hands on the desk. He was not in the mood for either flavor of bullshit they had to offer. "You think this is a casual chat?" Hannibal didn't wait for an answer. "Get your asses at attention and shut your blowholes."

"Sir yes sir." Murdock was instantly responding in Marine sharp fashion. A perfect imitation of Hannibal's own stance and stare from a few minutes ago. It was all bullshit, but it shut him up. For now. Next to Murdock and not as sharp, Face was standing at attention. This time the kid had taken the silent approach.

It was the smartest thing Face had done in recent history.

"The games the two of you are so fond of are done." Making sure there was no chance the Sergeant was mistaking what he had to say, Hannibal pressed on. "What the hell is wrong with you.! What sort of fuzz nut gets caught cheating and fighting in their own club?"

"It's my club. Sir." Face's voice was Army perfect, but damn it if the little shit didn't manage a level of arrogance reserved for teenagers and assholes.

Murdock jumped in trying to do damage control. Too fucking late.

"Face didn't start the fight sir, I did! I.."

"Dismissed, Lieutenant." Hannibal cut him, there was no time to play this game. Murdock was ultimately was not under his command, and if wasn't willing to take Hannibal's direction, then he needed to be removed and dealt with later.

"Now." he barked when the pilot didn't move and just stared at him mouth ajar.

Murdock was too damn well trained to do anything, but answer with a salute. "Sir, yes sir.' Like a shot he was gone. But not before Hannibal caught the flash in his eyes. The one the man tried like hell to hide. It was a sign of trouble. And just another thing that would be dealt with after Face had a fact check.

"Listen up Peck, because what I'm about to tell you is the only hope you have right now of keeping your sorry ass out of jail and it just might save your life one day." Hannibal moved around the desk, his focus solely on Face. The kid needed complete attention and energy.

"You are property of the US Military. Everything you think and do is property of the US Military. You steal, the US Army steals, you kill the US Army kills, you knock up a local and the US Military has a brand new Army brat in its numbers." Hannibal was close enough to watch every damn inch of the kid's face for a reaction. It would tell him a shit load more than anything Face bothered to say. "Why? Because The Army owns everything about you." Hannibal paused, watching.

That blank pissed off stare was there. Just like it had been when he'd first dressed him down. The kid was full of teenage stupidity. The kind that had him rolling his eyes and shaking his head. It was why Hannibal had been watching him so close. If he had any chance of getting through to Face and getting him back in line, it was now.

"How about Uncle Sam picks up half the bill I laid out for that place then."

He hand both hands on Face's collar and the the hapless ass yoked up against the wall before he could finish the latest idiocy. Eyes wide, FAce let out a shocked curse under his breath. Somehow Face hadn't seen this coming. One hand wrapped around Hannibal's wrist, the other grabbed his shirt, but it was purely to keep his balance and then it was off again in a split second.

"Stow the teenage bullshit." Hannibal was right back to square one. For every step forwards, every ounce of hard won progress, Face had to push and backslide.

"You're not just fucking yourself over Peck. Keep it up and Murdock's going to crash and burn with you. And the shrapnel from both of you imploding will take the rest of us out." Anger at the futility of the whole damn thing was boiling up. "I'm not about to stand back and let everyone burn. So you'd better figure out real fucking quick that when I say something is unacceptable it's because I will protect my men. And you damn well better trust my fucking calls and respect them." Hannibal let the kid go, and stepped back, but he kept his eyes on him, reading every damn move and wondering if there was ever anyway Face could drop the crap and accept what Hannibal had said and shown him in the past ten months.

Staying against the wall, Hannibal could see Face trying to figure everything out and the internal debate the kid always had going on. Head cocked just a bit to the side Face narrowed on Hannibal. There wasn't any of the bravado he might have expected.

"Yes, sir." There was more question in it than there should have been. But Hannibal let it go for the statement it should have been.

Leaning back against his desk, Hannibal took a deep breath. The anger and frustration ebbing away. "You're a major asset to this team and the men on it Face. You've earned your place and respect. So here's the deal; Mifflin hates me, and by proxy, the team. He wants me gone. If he gets a chance, he'll carry out every single fucking threat he made." It wasn't a condemnation, it was the facts. Face had gotten the point, as much as he could. This was explaining why the normal high jinks were a no go here. Face was one person on the team who needed an explanation.

"Why?"

"I rose in the ranks too fast for his liking. He thinks that's why I'm a cocky S.O.B. And to make matters worse, his commander forced him to play nice and let me have my own hand picked team." Hannibal had to wonder what Face would think of that; the truth. Hannibal wasn't forced to take anyone of the previously labeled malcontents for his elite team. They were all with Hannibal for one simple reason. He wanted them. "Rubbing salt in Mifflin's wounds is the fact that we're so Goddamned good at what we do. We get the job done, every time. Mifflin hates that I can get away with breaking a lot of rules to get the results the brass needs."

"But not me or what? That's not a universal statement."

"Face, you can get away with running an illegal club. Grunts can go blow off some steam, the base turns a blind eye. No harm, no foul. But when you get caught cheating at cards and it leads to open warfare, people are forced to see your "not a club club" as Murdock called it."

"Open warfare was a football game and a fight. How's that different from what goes on any other night?" It was hard reality that Hannibal had to deal with with Face. That slight distinction on where the line was crossed was not something he was able to see on his own. And not something Hannibal was going to be able to show him anytime soon.

"It's a distinction that's a lot easier to see with years of experience." He took a deep mouthful of smoke and let it work its magic. "That's why you need to trust me when I say what's going on is over the line and will cause everyone problems."

Slipping his hands into his pockets Face pushed himself off the wall towards Hannibal. "You've got a guy willing and able to put everyone of us in jail just to fuck with you. I don't want to go back and your years of experience aren't around all the time."

It was a damn good point, and the fact that Face was even asking meant he was taking this serious. The hard work was done. And damned if he wasn't proud of the kid.

"True, and I could tell you to walk the straight and narrow, but you can't and we both know it. When I'm not around, let the others have your back. BA, Ray, Cruiser; they all have good instincts as to the difference between big trouble and little trouble." He left Murdock out of it for now.

"Right." Face nodded confirmation of the whole thing despite the fact that it sounded more like a question than anything. But he did that when he wasn't entirely sure of things. Hannibal needed more than an unsure right.

"Let's put it this way kid. You need to keep your not club a DMZ." Hannibal had no doubt Face would keep the club. "Keep the boys happy and not complaining. And get your best con ever lined up for what to sell Mifflin if the club implodes." He leaned his hip on the desk "You should always have at least one back up plan."

"You know getting caught isn't in my plans."

"All the more reason to have a plan."

"Alright. I'll figure it out."

"Sooner the better." Face still didn't get it. The best Hannibal could hope was that Face knew enough to take his word on things.

" Dismissed Sergeant."

"Yes, Sir." Face snapped off a lazy two fingered salute.

Hannibal waited until he was behind the desk and Face was halfway out the door before he added. "Hey, this time see if you can get some Sinatra for the juke box."


	8. Chapter 8

Murdock should have been sleeping. Between flight hours, fist fights, MP's, and his own CO's belief that mopping the monsoon rains up off the mud tarmac for twelve hours would "help wash the stupid off", Murdock had every right to be passed out cold. Where sleep could heal the sore muscles and cold aches. In fact, by the time he had stumbled back to his Marine approved bunk and changed into dry boxers, he'd done just that.

The sleep hadn't lasted long. It never did, not anymore. Ghost screams and nightmares had him bolting upright, fighting to breath and remember where and what he was. Sleep was effectively done. Jamming his pants and boots back on, Murdock slipped out into the night, taking advantage of a rare break in the rain, he found himself fighting the sudden overwhelming urge to run as fast as he could into the darkness and snakes and snipers and landmines. Where it was safer than all the shit he saw in his head.

Three cigarettes later and he'd found himself at the chopper line. The guards knew him well enough to simply nod as he went past them, instead of checking his security clearance. To them he was just another screwball pilot doing whatever ritual he needed to try and keep his flying hunk of metal from killing them all.

It was half true, not completely true this time. This time he was there because he needed something to keep his feet stuck in the mud and rooted on friendly soil. Rotors, thrust, torque, all those other little pieces that played in his head, making the screaming noises twist and fade until they finally morphed into a bitterly sweet siren's song. It pulled at what was left of him. Locking him in step and keeping him from running to the hidden dark places that tried to call him out.

Flying helped center him. It always had. He'd figured out a while back that there'd been some kind of cosmic mix up. The wings he should have been born with on the outside, had grown inwards, right into his soul.

It was nights like this - times when he couldn't make sense of the voices and memories - that being where the flying happened was the only thing that helped. No. That wasn't true. Not anymore. Face and the team. They helped now. They came with silent acceptance and Face's charm that reached right into Murdock's head and worked its magic on the voices, like he knew exactly what they were saying.

He did. Because Face could hear them too.

Finishing the inspection of his bird who knows how many hours later, Murdock felt the tug to go back home, to the team. His body knew on a visceral level he needed to go to his team. It was the only hope in hell he had of getting even a few hours of shut eye.

But they weren't his team. Fucknuts Mifflin was right, he was just an add on. Hannibal wasn't his commander, and he'd followed protocol by sending Murdock back to his CO for punishment. It was a protocol that Hannibal had never bother with before.

Shit was changing and there was no stopping it, no controlling it, and not a shitting thing he could do about it except turn back to the chopper and try to ignore the noise in his head and the way his hand shook. It was all just a trick of the night. He just had to focus on the solid things. The metal, the rivets, the blades… over and over again, touching them all, methodical. Everything fading back into the dark, where it belonged.

By the time he heard the footsteps thudding into the mud Murdock was down to one cigarette and no concept of the time. He was tensing, readying for a fight and looking for an edge even as logic tried to convince him it was a friendly. _They'd got past the guards too, so they had to be on our side right?_ Yeah fuck logic, that shit went out the window the second he'd come to beautiful Southeast Asia, where babies can kill you and "our" side was an ever changing thing.

"Lieutenant!" Murdock was at attention so fast, mud slipped and slid under his boots. Hoorah mother fuckers, look at that Marine corp training in action. Hannibal was standing in front of him, steely blue eyes nailing Murdock down, hands behind his back in all shades of authority.

"You forget how the chain of command works?"

"No Sir!" Things like what the hell was Hannibal doing here, and what time was it, got pushed behind the sting. He'd dropped his last smoke in his haste, for what? Twelve hours of mopping up genuine Vietnamese rain had already fucking reiterated the fact the Murdock was a leatherneck, not a member of the A-Team.

"Good." Hannibal's entire demeanor relaxed inside a heartbeat. "At ease."

He dropped the parade pretty posture but 'ease' was out of the fucking question. What the hell did Hannibal want, other than reminding him who owned him and in what order?

"Next time Face starts running his mouth, remember that. Last thing I need is for his ego to get even more out of control because every time I go to dress him down you're jumping in to save his ass." Hannibal was pulling out a cigar, casual as ever and lighting it up.

"I wasn't saving Face's ass. I started the fight. Jarvis had it coming. I made sure he got it." Even after the rain clean up and the dress down and the rounds of punting the problem Murdock to every CO who wanted a piece of him, there wasn't an ounce of him that was sorry. BA deserved a hell of a lot better and Jarvis deserved a lot worse. He'd gotten off light.

"That fight, yes. But everything else, no. Face is taking stupid risks and they are affecting the team." He pointed the butt end of his cigar at Murdock and just as frankly laid out the facts. "Face can't figure out when to stop. You can and for some reason you're choosing not to. The fact that you knew I was going to chew his ass when he mouthed off and he was shocked as hell proves that. I dismissed you because no matter what Face does, you want to save him from the consequences and if that continues, he is never going to figure anything out and he's going to wind up crashing and burning.."

"You dismissed me cause I ain't your problem." Fuck him for trying to make this into some kind of of valiant effort on his part

"I dismissed you because you are _all_ my problem." Hannibal didn't raise his voice, but there was a controlled pissed off in there that Hannibal hadn't directed at Murdock in years.

"Not if I follow the chain of command. Sir."

"You want off the team?"

"I ain't on your team!" He was moving into Hannibal's space, the noises getting louder. "Mifflin's told me, you've told me, my own fucking CO told me." Fuck Hannibal for pushing the problem off, fuck him for thinking Murdock would let Face crash and burn. He'd fucking killed for Face and he'd die for him too. For any of them. "And all the fucking blood in the world ain't gonna change it."

"You are either on my team. Or you're not. Just like everyone else. There's no exception to that and there never has been. You get that straight in your head or you tell me right now you can't."

Maybe it was the way Hannibal said it, with complete certainty and authority. Maybe it was the hard, steady look. Maybe it was the fact that over the din and confusion and fucking uncertainty, there was one fact that was true. Hannibal didn't lie to him. Ever. And because of that Murdock never lied to Hannibal, not about the real shit. Rooted to the spot Murdock looked Hannibal in the eye. "I ain't nothing without the team."

It was enough for Hannibal to take his word for it. "Good." That hard line softened and Hannibal took a step over to the side of the chopper and sat in the open door. "Look Murdock, Face is short. I get it. I really do." Something about the way Hannibal was talking so genuinely had Murdock listening. "Whether he decides to stay or not is his choice, but whatever he does, if he doesn't figure a few things out quick, he's never going to make it." Raising his brow, that stupid cigar was pointing at him again. "You know that more than anyone. Trying to protect him and save him from himself isn't doing him any favors."

"Save him? Hell, I can't even save myself." Everything was unsure, who would be where and when, nothing made sense, nothing was a given, except for one thing; he wasn't getting out of Vietnam alive.

"And therein lies the problem, Murdock." Hannibal took a deep breath, letting Murdock have a moment to sift through that. "If he leaves you'll be left with no one who understands whatever knocked you off your kilter again. But throwing yourself in front of the bus he's got headed for him to make sure he stays, isn't the answer."

Murdock shook his head slowly. Hannibal, for once, had gotten it wrong. Murdock didn't want Face to stay, he understood that Face had to. Face's demons may be dressed up nicer, but they were just as destructive his. Neither one of them was real without the team. Templeton Peck and HM Murdock both died months ago, in a forgotten village on a piece of mud that no one wanted in the first place. Sometimes he wasn't even sure either one of them had ever really existed.

"If Face getting drummed out was the answer, I'd be the first one to help him over the wall." But Face didn't need the world. He needed his home.

"So he can be AWOL. He tried that before Murdock, remember?" Hannibal shifted, standing up again. "You're a good friend Murdock and a great pilot, but something's got you blinded when it comes to Face. That clarity you've got in the sky, it needs to be everywhere and you need to know that the whole team's got your back. Don't lose sight of that."

"Face is the only thing I can see clearly at ground level. Better then I see me."

"I know. And that's what concerns me." He didn't elaborate on that. He just let it hang in the air over the two of them.

"We lost some pieces." Murdock tapped his hand to his chest, where his heart used to be. "This is all I've got left. Everything. I'm just trying to keep us all together." Face and Murdock were both broken long before they'd met and what had happened in country had left them with just enough parts to limp along. Murdock once again found himself looking in Hannibal's eyes and letting the truth out. "I don't know what else to do."

"You take it a day at a time, Murdock." Hannibal's voice was almost quiet. Pensive even. "You ask for the help you need. You keep in mind that actions have consequences. And most importantly, you trust your team when you can't trust yourself."

He got the implication, and the unspoken words that would have ended his career if they were said out loud. "No matter what, sir, the team's safety always comes first." Face, him, his wings, meant nothing without the team.

Hannibal just nodded, a comforting hand on his shoulder and the conversation was over. They'd said all they could.

XXXXX

Cruiser leaned his forearms against the rickety table in the back of what was left of Face's club and ignored the chatter between Ray and BA. He knew enough about BA's mamma and Ray's girl to last a lifetime. Fortunately, for all the talk the club had been getting since the fight over the last week, every GI on the base seemed to have the sense enough to stay away from it.

The current lack of tables and chairs may have had something to do with that, but that wasn't Cruiser's concern. The absence of any business potential made it the perfect place to sit back and take a time out from the war. He pulled the package that his sister had sent him closer and began opening it. A bland cardboard box filled with trinkets to let him know she cared and missed him and was still thinking about him. They were little reminders that there was a world outside of Vietnam. One that wasn't completely filled with assholes, violence, waste, and fish-eyed fuckers trying to kill him.

Cruiser pulled out an envelope from the box and set it aside. Unless the letter inside it was stained with tears and prattled on about how much Katie's heart was broken because whatshisname had turned out to be a giant douchebag, he didn't much care to read it right now. No doubt instead it was an update about how perfect her boyfriend was. Loving, doting, and just as sweet as a fucking lollypop. It made his skin crawl thinking about that lowlife sweet talking his Katie-bear like that. Saying all the right things until he got what he wanted from her. Katie was the sweetest person in the world and she deserved to be treated as such. None of the general bullshit guys played. But she was too innocent and trusting and it made his blood fucking boil with the want to cave the back of the guys head in.

Cruiser let those feelings go though. They'd gotten him nowhere in the past and now he was a world away. He set the tupperware container full of cookies on the table too, and continued to pilfer through the box. Katie-bear was a lot of things; cute, adorable, innocent beyond all measure, and the one person who could cut through the worst of his moods with a simple "Dannyboy" and a sharp look. Magically his world wound up back on kilter. However, she was not a cook. Every package, without fail, included the new kitchen experiment. And every time he sent her a quick postcard or simple note letting her know he was still alive, and he'd wind up telling her how good they were.

Every. Damned. Time.

Flipping through the rest of the box, he didn't bother to pull everything out. The pack of smokes went into his pocket, there was some coca cola, couple of books for the down time, some real honest to God coffee, gum, a few pieces of loose leaf paper he flipped open. He couldn't help but smile, a sketch that he recognized in a heartbeat. A young boy with a towel knotted around his shoulders like a cape holding a scraggly cat. The eyes caught him for a moment though. Determined and almost dark. Cruiser folded it back up quickly, dropping it into the box. Later on he'd have a chance to go through everything with more attention to the details.

The last two items though couldn't wait. A long chain with a pendant attached. Four hearts interwoven into one. It was the Celtic symbol for eternal love. He'd seen it before. Hell, Katie and him had talked about getting tattoos of it a long time ago. He needed another one that stood for forbidden and then everything would line up. Fingers wrapping around it, his thumb smoothed over the metal as he shoved those feelings down. Douche-bag Magee was standing in his place now. Filling the void he'd left when he'd signed the dotted line for Uncle Sam.

The last item was a picture, creased down the middle, edges worn. It was Katie in his 1963 Ford side step piece of shit pickup truck. The door was open and she was sitting sideways in the driver's seat looking at the camera. A well worn sundress and a light sweater. Innocent and beautiful and serene. Even in this moment in time, taken God only knew how long ago, he could see that twinkle in her eyes. Like that of an angel. Watching and listening and waiting in that nonjudgmental yet expectant way held such high standards. It was captivating and it made him want to be a better man.

And she was waiting just for him. At least in that moment in time. Like she should have been now. Cruiser slipped the photo into his shirt pocket, putting an end to that internal mantra. As soon as he could he'd put it in an old copy of All Quiet on the Western Front that made for a great photo holder, ensuring that they stayed nice and flat and wrinkle free. And as safe as anything in this fucked up place.

The already broken table shook, but managed not to collapse as BA shifted, going through his own box of goodies. He snarled over a shoebox that his Mom had sent. It was guaranteed to be full of some of the best cookies known to the GI world. Unlike Katie's.

"Have some." BA growled. It was somewhere between an order and a threat, and as nonthreatening as BA ever got.

Ray didn't need permission or an order. He was already leaning over the table and grabbing a couple of the somehow still moist wonders. "Damn BA," Ray said through a cookie. "Your Momma sends the best shit."

It took Cruiser a moment to filter through all of it. But BA's Momma's cookies held an infinite appeal over his other thoughts. Despite all of it, he was left with a smile. No matter what happened with Katie, she was there. A constant in his life and an anchor that surpassed Vietnam. Something to go home to. He grabbed a cookie, raising his brow as he took one of the Cola's and inched the rest towards his teammates. Leaning back on the chair, he relaxed. "Think we can fly your Mom out to give some cooking lessons to my sister?"

Ray picked up one of Katie's supposed brownies and tapped it against the corner of the table. It made the same hollow sound a tank did. "She needs more than a few lessons. It's a good thing she's cute, 'cause she's not getting any guys based on cooking skills."

It was BA who snarled an answer. "Little Momma don't need no man, and she cooks fine."

Cruiser just sat there and cracked open the soda can, taking a sip. "If that's the prereq for dating her, I'm fine with mail order chocolate bricks then."

"As always you make an excellent point, Cruiser." Ray grinned. For all his talk, Ray was one of a very few who could be trusted with a man's sister. "She's a Jim Dandy of a girl."

"She an angel." Hard to say what was more shocking, BA talking or BA talking low and reverent, like he was in church. It had Cruiser's eyes narrowing on the bigger man. What the hell was that all about? He could feel his protective hackles going up. But there was no threat. No reason for it at all.

"Yeah," he agreed after a moment. "She is."

It was Ray who broke the sudden tension. "Trish is going to be there, waiting in Hawaii for me. Face said he can get me the best suite in the hotel." The look of pure happiness on his face was almost sickening. "Man I can't wait." Captain obvious frowned a little. "Do you think I should get her something at our stop in Japan first?"

Oh good. Relationship talk. "She going to be at the airport?"

"Face said she would be waiting for us with a car." He looked happy as a puppy with a new stick just waiting for someone to throw it.

"We've got a four hour layover in Japan." Cruiser shrugged a bit. "Unless you want to grab something in the airport, Japan's gonna be the place to do it."

"I'm gonna get Momma something in Hawaii. Hear they got nice pearls."

"Well she's not meeting you at the airport, so that works for you, BA." Ray threw back.

They had a point. Cruiser really did need to find something nice for Katie-bear. But shopping had never been his specialty. And if he tasked it out to Face it would be all sorts of wrong. "Yeah…" Cruiser didn't finish the thought. Mostly because he couldn't. He didn't have an answer and now he had more questions. What the hell did you get for the sweetest girl in the world? One who didn't like fashion or expensive trinkets or ever ask for anything except love and acceptance?

It was a good thing he didn't need to figure it out right this moment.

XXXXX

Ray shoved the last of his clothes into his dufflebag. He didn't have much here and what he did have wasn't impressive. Trish didn't care. And in less than a day, he would be learning the curves of her body all over again. That thought had a smile pulling at the corner of his mouth, and his hand tapping his shirt pocket. Right where her letter to him was. He'd read it twenty times already and he would read it a hundred more before he faded off to sleep.

Her letter, and the promise of holding her had him in too good of a mood to be pissed at anything. Even the fact the he was one hundred percent sure Hannibal was coming up with some sort of hellish learning lesson for when the team got back from R and R. Ray was sure he was going to hate the teaching method, but he understood why it had to be done. Trace and Jarvis may be a bunch of assholes, but they were assholes who could one day be the only thing between the team and death. And one day the team could be the only people able to pull the SEALs out of the fire. You may not like the person in the foxhole next to you, but you damn well had to know how to work with them, and to trust them to do their jobs. If not, every damn one of them could be dead.

Too bad getting that lesson across would most likely required fourteen hours of back breaking, mud covered, bone weary drills. Ray sighed to himself. Damn he was getting too old for this shit. He need a hot shower, a real bed, and Trish's warm soft body laying next to him in a dark cool, air conditioned hotel room. Making love for hours on end, exploring each others bodies, learning the feel of each other all over again...

"Forget it, Face. I ain't playing cards with you." Murdock's way too energetic voice dragged Ray out of Trish's arms and back to the team room. "I'm gonna need all my money for learning about the Hawaiian people and culture." Face laughed outright at that. Maybe by culture Murdock meant booze, beaches, and broads..

Relaxing back onto his bunk, Ray tapped out a cigarette as he watched the Face-Murdock Comedy hour.

Face didn't bother stopping laughing as he shouldered Murdock out of his way. "I'd spot you.

"And what about the ace up your sleeve and its friend's in your cigarette pack?" Grinning, Murdock gabbed Face's smokes out of his pocket and pulled out not one, not two, but three aces. "Or the shiny lighter that reflects pretty cards?" No wonder the kid was so damned "lucky" at cards.

Which of course meant that the Squids had been right. Face cheated them. And Murdock knew the whole time. Rubbing his hand across his forehead Ray didn't bother to try to figure that out. It was pointless. There was something about those two that reminded Ray of the stories he had heard about twins knowing and feeling what the other was thinking.

Ray took a deep drag of his smoke, and let it out slowly. He was too tired to do much else, but watch and think. Not too long ago, Ray would have voted those two most likely to kill each other. Face couldn't go ten minutes without doing or saying something stupid that had Murdock pissed.

That alone was bizarre. Murdock was goofy, but he was rock steady. Nothing ever got that grin to move an inch. But one typical brash, untouchable, teenage comment or action from Face and the man would go off. It was a shock to see Murdock get angry. There was something cold and dead that came into his eyes. Something, that if Ray was honest, scared the shit out of him.

That kinda look was what you saw in the guys who had been out too long, spent too much time with death and killing. The guy who had turned feral, but kept it contained, just under their skin. Those guys snapped and went out in big, bloody ways. It wasn't a look that belonged on a man who had once painted a chopper two different shades of pink, making it look like had giant tits. Murdock's rational had his typical unique logic. " _Come on, Ray? What man's gonna shoot a rack like that?"_

Murdock hadn't been quite the same since him and Hannibal disappeared a while back. Guys in suits had them off on "official business". Fucking spooks. But the real changes came after they'd pulled him and Face out of that fucking mess in that village. Hell both him and Face had changed after that.

Nightmares that had them both waking up. Murdock screaming in Vietnamese, and Face sitting bolt upright, eerily silent, but wild eyed, looking like he was seeing a demon straight from hell. Then there were the looks, far away and haunted, that ended when he looked at Face. It was one of the damnedest things he had ever seen, the two of them talking to each other, but neither one saying a word. Made the hair on the back of Ray's neck stand up.

Just like the way Murdock would jump and swing if he didn't see you coming. And the too calm way Face watched him, like he was looking for signs of Murdock getting too lost in something in his head. Like it was Face's self appointed duty. And the way Face would calmly talk to him, anchoring him, but somehow steadying himself too. Both of those kids suddenly looking older than time as they huddled together, deep in hushed conversation and memories.

A thud and laughing had Ray's attention. Face had decided to recoup his aces by the tried and true method of a low tackle. The two of them were wrestling and tumbling over each other like two overactive puppies. At least they weren't out looking for trouble. Or letting trouble find them.

Ray shook his head. Way more energy than brains. He didn't want to think about what would happen if one of them got hurt or killed. No matter what, they would end up with two men lost. And nothing he could do to fix either one.

Taking one last drag, Ray crushed out his smoke, and then leaned his head back, closing his eyes. No sense worrying and thinking about things he had no control over. Not when he was so close to being with Trish. Smiling slightly, Ray drifted off to a semi awake world that centered around the woman he had loved since he was ten.


	9. Chapter 9

BA sighed to himself and took up sentry in the corner of the jewelry shop. Japan was safe but BA knew that no place was ever _that_ safe. Face had sang some jive song about how "he knows some guy who could get the best diamonds in all of Asia" and make sure that Ray got the ring Trish deserved. Not ten minutes after they'd arrived at the jewelry store a few miles from the base, Ray was neck deep in diamonds and Face was gone. Turns out Face's man in the jewel trade had a daughter that kept smiling at Face. Big shock. Face had been on the down low bout it, but BA saw how fast Face had done the intros and got the jeweler focused on a sale, and not his pretty daughter who was slipping into the back room with a good lucking GI, both of them with stupid grins and glazed over eyes. That had been twenty minutes ago.

At least Face was keeping it quiet. Last thing they needed was to have ta' deal with an angry Father. BA had been in enough stockades and jails, he didn't need to add Japan to his growing collections of countries that'd locked him up. He didn't wanna have to write another letter to Momma from a prison cell.

Cruiser was looking at random displays, Ray was neck deep in rings, Face was neck deep in the daughter, and BA was left in the small shop with several of the local woman staring at him with open curiosity. Folding his arms across his chest, BA ignored the giggles hidden behind tiny hands. He was used ta people staring at him. Least here they just looked at him like he was a sideshow freak and not with the hate and fear that he got back home.

A small man in a business suit scowled and barked something to the girls. Just like that they ducked their heads and scurried away. Japan was different than Vietnam. Here it was rude to stare and laugh. In Vietnam it was pretty much expected, especially from the kids. Kids had no fear of dark American GI's. They was too busy tryin' to hustle as many goods as they could in broken English and slang. They didn't have time for shame or worry. They didn't know black men was supposed to be bad. That was one way kids beat adults, kids didn't know what they was supposed to hate, yet.

Cruiser looked up from the display case just long enough to watch the girls scurry away. They weren't hookers and didn't hold his interest for long. A moment later his attention was right back on the rows and velvet trays of shiny gold and sparkling gems. BA didn't know why Cruiser had come along instead of stayin' on base with Hannibal and Murdock. It was odd and that had BA curious. Come to think of it, Cruiser never talked about a girlfriend. He only slept with women he paid for. And the only girl he ever talked about was his sister. Cruiser didn't even talk about his own Momma.

"Hey, whatcha lookin for?" BA was just bored enough to question the surly medic.

"Fuck if I know."

Cruiser was still looking at the trinkets in the cases, studying them hard, brow furrowed in a world of indecision. That wasn't nothin' like the man BA had grown to know. Cruiser usually saved that intensity for saving some grunts life. Maybe that's why BA found himself stepping closer and looking at the blinding array.

"Who it for?"

"My sister." Cruiser took a break from shopping. Looking at BA, Cruiser rested his hip against the display. "I don't know what the hell to get her. She doesn't ever _want_ anything."

"You can get her and your Momma something that matches." BA had seen some of the girls back home do that.

Cruiser's brow just creased in deeper. Not Cruiser's usual mix of anger, confusion and pissed off either. It was more like Cruiser had reached his limit of choices and decisions about crap he didn't care about. That seemed to push Cruiser over the edge and straight into pulling out his pack of smokes.

"Maybe get 'em something with their birthstones." BA looked over the trinkets. None of it was right for Cruiser's sister. Putting expensive jewelry on something that perfect just made gold and gems look cheap.

"Yeah, maybe." He flicked his lighter shut, sliding it back into his pocket as he pulled in the smoke. But he didn't look back at the cases. "See if I can find something stateside."

"I gotta find Momma's gift. Face say he know a guy in Hawaii too. Maybe they can help you." BA knew exactly what he wanted to get Momma, he just had to track it down.

"I'll figure something out for her." He glanced over at Ray who was comparing yet another stone matched with yet another ring. "What are you getting your momma?"

"The fanciest red coat and hat anyone in her church ever seen." BA remembered it as clear as the day he'd seen it. There had been a display at one of the fancy department stores Momma used to clean. the way Momma used to look at that coat, BA never forgot. For just a few seconds her eyes would lose all the worry and steel and she'd look full of wonder, like a kid at Christmas. She never said a word, but he knew, even back then, that Momma loved that coat and hat. And he knew she'd never buy it, even if they had the money. Momma didn't do that. Momma put everything she had into raising him and keeping him fed and clothed and out of trouble. Eleven year old Bosco Baracus had made a promise that one day he would grow up and get his Momma that one thing that made her look all young and happy. Now, BA the man, actually had the money, and thanks to Face, the means to do just that.

Cruiser didn't push the issue. He didn't even growl or say anything stupid. Whatever he was thinking as he stood there had the man was as reserved now as he had been since they'd gotten there. "That's nice BA." BA couldn't help but watch Cruiser a bit more closely. Trying to pinpoint what wasn't adding up. Reading people was Face's deal, not BA's. If he didn't know better he would of though Cruiser was being a smart ass, but he wasn't. It was just the opposite. Cruiser was serious. It was the most personal he'd ever seen Cruiser and it had BA looking down at his boots and talking. "Your sister send you all sorts of pictures. Maybe you can send her something for drawing. Like some pastels." BA knew better than to talk, especially when it came to stuff big black dudes from the city weren't supposed to know about. Like drawing. No one, not even the people who knew he could build anything, ever stopped to think he had to be able to draw a design.

"You know, BA, you might might be on to something with that." Cruiser gave him a half smirk, his voice a bit lighter, like BA would have expected from a guy that was shopping for a gift for his loved ones.

XXXXX

A thirteen hour flight had never felt so damn good. Face had let himself sink into the seat of the plane. This time was different than the last. His own clothes, own choice of haircuts, and the best part? Instead of flying into Vietnam a half step outside of jail stateside, he was flying to American soil surrounded not only by friends, but beautiful women. And if the lingering looks and Cheshire smile the petite flight stewardess was giving him had left any questions as to her interest, the fact that she'd somehow managed to lose her top button, let him know the blond was just one more of his options.

It felt good. Like he was able to relax for the first time in longer than he could remember. Hannibal hadn't even said anything when he'd traded in his uniform in favor of jeans and button up shirt. Or when Cruiser had traded in his coffee for a few of those tiny bottles of booze. The selection was minimal, but the sergeant had a knack for making due. And by the time they'd touched down in Hawaii, Murdock had exhausted every bit of trivial information he could manage about planes.

Now, in the terminal, bags in hand - or over the shoulder - as the case may be, Face's attention was pulled towards the sound of several women laughing and talking louder than they should have been. Breaking away from the pack, he strolled over to the group of women in very, very short skirts. Flashing his best, most brilliant smile, Face slipped his hand into the small of a very attractive raven haired beauty's back. "Hey there, gorgeous, you live on the island?"

She smiled back at him in a dazed sort of way. "I'm a citizen of the universe man." Up close he could see the huge pupils and smell the lingering sweet scent of hash. She had no issues with his hand, nope, before he even had her name she had her hand on his ass. "Hi, I'm Star. And you're pretty."

No doubt about it, Face liked Hawaii.

"Oh, Star," her friend interjected, "his smile is like sunshine." She was taller, with blonde hair and blue eyes. How long had it been since he'd seen a blue eyed woman? For a moment it didn't matter that her eyes were just as shot as Star's. "I'm Summer and you are too perfect to be lonely."

Face chuckled a bit at the two of them. The attention was nice. And a sure roll around the hay was always fun. But if he wanted dead eyes and rose colored glasses he would have stayed in Vietnam. R and R was all about carefree and feeling _alive_.

He was out, but since he'd done the work of laying ground, he might as well see if his good fortune could be someone else's. Hand automatically circling Summer's waist, a beautiful girl on either arm inside of five minutes on American soil - yes he really was _that_ good. He ignored the dilated pupils and the far off gazes as he turned them towards Cruiser and Murdock.

Murdock was trotting over. With his bag over his shoulder and aviators on he looked like a recruiting post for the Marines. Except his goofy grin said anything but the meathead "pain is weakness leaving the body" slogan they liked to tote. "Face, two minutes in paradise and you managed to find some angels. Nice work. So how's about you introduce us?"

"Right." Murdock wasn't going to want anything to do with them. "Murdock, meet Summer and Star." His smile turned up in amusement at the pilot as he explained, "They are citizens of the universe. I'm not sure I got the right stamps on my passport."

"What a coincidence. I'm a citizen of the same place. Small world, huh?"

"Is that a friend of yours?"

"Murdock?" Something about the edge in Summer's voice had his look shifting to her. Oh good, Mother Nature's star children were apparently not so at ease with everything the universe had to offer after all. "No, I just made that name up. I've never actually met him before." Was she serious? She was high, but she should be able to track this sequence of events.

Murdock played along, not missing a beat. "Never meet him before in my life."

Summer was quick, reeling back and spitting in Murdock's face with all the venom and hate of a pissed off Cobra. "Baby killer!"

Neither one of them were expecting it and it took a second before the crooked turn that reality had taken hit home. Face was moved, untangling himself from the bong hitting hypocrites and getting between Murdock and the women. If one of them was that vile, they both were.

"What the fuck is your problem?" Face demanded.

"Like, god, a killer. What a downer." Too high to work up as much hate as her friend, Star was still able to manage disgusted.

"Yeah, how many women and children have you killed?" Summer continued. "Huh? You feel proud about being a murderer? They give you a medal for it?"

Face was pissed. Astounded and pissed. In a heartbeat everything had changed. Murdock was snapping to attention, smile gone. And Face had no doubt that behind the sunglasses, his eyes had lost all expression. Murdock may be fine hiding behind his soldier act but Face wasn't. Somehow on American soil, where he was one of the good guys and not a threat, Face found himself right back in the heat of conflict.

"How many babies you have to kill for your medal, soldier boy?"

Face's eyes narrowed in on Summer as she came closer to them with each vile word of her diatribe. Face's hand came up, catching her on the collar bone and shoving her back. "Back off. You can go find your poppy seeds or something. Get the hell out of here."

Murdock grabbed his hand, A tight grip around his wrist. "Ain't worth it, Face." Murdock's drawl was thick, but it did little to hide the hard tone.

"Hey man!" BA was there suddenly between Face and the harpie. "Cool it." There was just enough concern in the big man's voice to make it not sound like a threat.

"You're all a bunch of no good, murdering, cowards."

People were starting to stop, watching the spectacle, but not stopping it. And suddenly Cruiser was there in the mix too. Getting between them, right next to BA, and not giving Face a chance to say or do anything else.

"I wouldn't say that." Cruiser took a step closer to the hippies, getting them even further away from Face and Murdock. "We're great at murdering. But children have gotten boring." His hand reached up to Summer's cheek. "Women on the other hand, they still get my blood boiling."

Star gasped in horror. "Oh my god! You're all fucking psychos!"

"Enough." Hannibal's voice wasn't loud but there was no room or mercy in his tone and it cut through to everyone. "Move out. Now." Hannibal put a hand on Murdock's shoulder and turned him around, away from the girls and towards the sunlight outside the doors. As if on cue, BA's heavy hand landed on Face's shoulder and suddenly he was being marched out of the airport too.

"Be okay brother."

Be okay, Face echoed in his head. How the fuck was this okay? And how the hell was Cruiser chuckling about the whole thing as he passed them. How the hell was he unscathed by that? He made a joke out of a threat and Face still had no fucking idea what had happened back there. And there Face was with his own personal escort out of the first American building he'd been in in almost a year. BA was talking to him. Face could hear the words, but damn it all if he could string their meaning together or think of something to say. Part of him wanted to shove BA's hand off of him and get away from the lot of them. But then where was he going to go? The airport bathroom and do what? No, he was stuck trying to sort out what had happened and how to deal with it right here in front of God and everyone.

So much for fun under the sun with a pocket full of cash and flask of booze. Welcome home. Oh wait. He'd never had one.


	10. Chapter 10

Cruiser had to admit it; Face could work an angle like nobody's business. The Ala Moana Hotel was five stars all the way. Vaulted ceilings, crown molding, full length drapes, and that lovely ever so white it made your fucking eyes hurt everywhere you looked… it made the swank of his Pittsford New York upbringing look docile and mundane in comparison. The difference between a luxurious escape and the everyday glad handing that came with living in yuppy-ville. Cruiser dumped his bag onto the bed. The weight of it sinking into the cushy mattress and over stuffed comforter until half the duffel had been swallowed thousand count Egyptian cotton.

It had been six years since he'd taken that last step out of mainstream life on the fast road to U Penn Medical School and onto a plane to basic. He'd said adios to all the facades and the social graces, and use this fork not that one, and wear a tie, don't unbutton your shirt and all of that phony crap that had been shoved down his throat to make him upper crust and never looked back.

However, three connecting suites with jacuzzi tubs, chandeliers, and balconies were a welcome change from rain, mud, and worn out cots. And those _beaches_. Deep blue ocean water peppered with very little clothing and so very much skin instead of floating bodies and crimson blood. It made Cruiser want to jump straight from the balcony onto the beach and grab a few of those beauties to tote back to the room and have his way with until the sun came back up - in a weeks time.

Opening the door that connected his and BA's suite to Face and Murdock's, he could hear the shower running. Face tossed a bottle at him from the wet bar before he'd made it three steps in. "Jose, my long lost friend," He smiled at the bottle fondly, "it's been too long." He cracked the seal of the lid and tossed it in the general direction of the garbage, and tipping the bottle towards Face. "If you insist."

From under the bar of wonders Face pulled out his own bottle . Brandy for him. He was still scowling, hanging on to the pissed off from the airport. "Who in the hell do they think they are?" The only thing that stopped his talking was a long pull from the bottle. "I've heard about people doing shit like that, but spitting on us? What the fuck?"

Righteous indignation. Cruiser leaned his shoulder on the wall, eyes on Face as he took a long welcoming pull from the tequila and let it roll around his mouth, savoring the burn before swallowing it it down. "Don't get your panties in bunch, man. Who cares?" He shrugged the whole thing off, letting it go for the both of them. "Whores want to cut your dick off, the VC want to kill you. Uncle Sam wants to give you a medal, and hippy fucks hate our guts. Welcome home."

"They're not the VC. That's the whole point. They're Americans, they're not supposed to fucking hate us."

"Fine, maybe men in uniform just aren't their type. We can always go back and ask them if you want."

"They spit on us! How the hell do you just let that go?"

"I didn't. Hannibal put a stop to it." Cruiser reminded the younger man and pushed himself off the wall. "Besides, why should I care what they think? Hell, if they knew what I thought of them they'd really spit in my face." Hawaii was not about some philosophical debate he couldn't anything about. "You gotta loosen up, man." Hand dropping on Face's shoulder, he moved them towards the door. "It's R and R. Sand and relaxation. There's a beach full of scantily clad women, empty beds, and full bottles of booze. Forget the fucks. There's a whole island to tear up."

"Forget them, huh?" Face was giving him that bullshit smile the whole world seemed to buy into. "Right, well that's where the brandy comes in." Face took a second, longer swig. Looked like he was ready to have some good old Remy Martin help him with some short term memory loss.

Smiling, Cruiser let himself plop down in one of the lounge chairs. It was not a used tire, covered in mud, or on foreign soil. It felt odd. Tipping his own bottle towards Face he called bullshit on the younger man. "Few more of those and you might start believing that shit."

Face tipped the bottle at him in a little mock salute. "If you find something more effective than tequila for forgetting let me know." Face fumbled around the precision work it took to light his smoke and dropped into the chair next to Cruiser. It wasn't until after he managed to lite a smoke that his smile dropped.

"There's always narcs to get that job done."

"Did you see the look on his face?" Face shook his head, "I've come to expect fucked up shit over there. But this..." Who was he kidding, there was nothing he could do anyway. "Like you said Cruiser. Fuck 'em. They don't matter."

XXXXX

Hannibal's hotel was very nice. Clean, well maintained, and full of bustling tourists and staff. And Hannibal would bet every dime he had to his name that it was no where near as opulent as the rooms Face had managed to scam for the rest of the team. There was no doubt in Hannibal's mind that the kid had gone all out. Part of Hannibal wished he could see exactly what Face could do when turned loose in a playground of luxury. But the rules were clear. Officers and enlisted were not to fraternize. And while Hannibal was willing to overlook that in a war zone, here on base was a different story. There was no war here taking the attention of the upper brass like there was in Vietnam. Given the crap his team was supposed to do over there, they simply didn't have time to worry about whether or not Hannibal could have a drink with them.

What he and the the rest of his A-team were doing and how they were doing it was so far out of the normal military box of thinking that the rules _had_ to bend. And since there was so much unknown, classified, and frankly out right lied about over there, most of the higher ups were more than willing to turn a blind eye to just about anything. And when they weren't, most of the time as long as you had a half way decent argument, you could get some slack. Back in the real world though, where the paper pushers ruled, it was a different matter.

Slinging his duffel bag over his shoulder Hannibal frowned to himself. If the little scene at the airport proved anything, it was that navigating the political bullshit state side required a lot more restraint than it did in Southeast Asia. It was complete bullshit. A bunch of crap spewed by an elite and spoiled few who had no idea what it was like to fight for your life and the lives of your friends, or of the horrors of just what humans could become. It was a cold, hard reminder that there were different rules to follow back in the good ole US of A. And they were rules that already had him wanting a scotch and a shower.

Stopping in front of a very tan man behind the front desk, Hannibal reached in his breast pocket for a cigar. "Lt. Col. John Smith. I have a reservation." Cigar in hand he waited for the usual smiles and comments about checking in as "Mr. Smith".

"Oh yes, Lieutenant Colonel Smith. Mrs. Smith arrived a few hours ago and straightened out the mistake in the booking. Your reservation was changed to the honeymoon suit."

"Oh really?" Mrs. Smith. That was new. There was only one person he could think of that would be that presumptuous, and he hadn't told her about his upcoming R and R. But before he could ask any questions, a familiar voice had him turning and looking over his shoulder.

"Jonathan!" The voice was as excited and proper as he'd ever heard Bunny Schrowder. Walking over to him, dressed like she was going to an afternoon tea, elbow length white gloves, pill box hat and all, he couldn't help but cock his head just a bit. The woman had… he wouldn't call it style, but it was something alright. Moxie? No that wasn't it either.

"Bunny." He took a few steps away from the desk as she clicked towards him on very classic and sensible pumps. What ever "Mrs. Smith" had in mind was best discussed away from others. "Well now isn't this a surprise."

"Is it?" It wasn't a question. He should have expected her to show up. It's what long time couples did and Bunny would not lose face on his behalf. In her mind he should have invited her, and inviting herself in place of that was nothing but an act of love. Arms open, she leaned in for a very appropriate hug and a kiss. Not on the lips. No, people might stop and stare at that. On the corner of his mouth for the allotted amount of time.

It was all very prim and proper and for some reason it made his skin itch, and not in the way it should when a beautiful young woman was in his arms. "Yes, it is." Giving up on his cigar for the moment, Hannibal dropped it back into his pocket and slipped his arm through her waiting one. All the rules of etiquette must be practiced. Even when one was checking into a hotel room under an assumed name to have premarital sex.

The rules were different for some. "Why don't you show me the way to the room and we can discuss things in private, over a drink."

"Darling, such a wonderful idea." Shoulders back and head held high, she let Hannibal take the lead on the way to the elevator. "I had champagne sent to the room. To celebrate your return to the civilized world."

"Champagne." Hannibal hit the button for up and managed a smile. "You've thought of everything, haven't you?" Right now civilization had him yearning for a shower even more than a five click march in the mud.

Waiting for the elevator he looked over at Bunny. Petite, perfectly groomed and dressed, she was attractive and intelligent. Her father was a retired general and her mother came from a fine old family in Massachusetts that could trace its roots back to the Mayflower. She was, in short, the perfect companion for a quickly rising Army officer like him.

He'd met her at a dinner party in Washington two years ago. Bunny was a charming, and yes, perfect date. They'd hit it off and it hadn't taken long for Hannibal to end up at family gatherings and in her bed. Her pink, lacy, frilly bed. It was a little like having sex in a doll factory. But it was good and it worked for them. And it was natural to keep in contact when he went back to South East Asia. The letters from her were lilac scented reminders of a world where everything wasn't trying to kill him. Lately though, the letters had spent more time on future houses and political ambitions then memories of caresses and smiles. He'd figured she was impatient and looking for more, but he'd made it very clear that his focus now was on his unit and survival. He wasn't about to promise himself to a wife and family when his everyday included the very real possibility of death. The only question left was had Bunny listened?

"I've had a few hours to get things ready for your arrival, Darling." And boy had she, the honeymoon suite had started out over the top, but now it had an addition of what had to be her best dresses hanging in the closet, candles all nice and lit, and even the elegance of Mozart playing on the record player. "I thought you'd like to relax while I fill you in on everything."

"Correct you were." Hannibal pulled the bottle of champagne out of the ice bucket. Ice? What they wouldn't have given for just a few of those wonderful frozen cubes in the middle of the jungle heat? He ignored the urge to dip his hand in the bucket just to feel the bite of the cold as the ice melted around his fingers. Right now he had more pressing issues.

"How about you start explaining while I pour?" Hannibal followed that up with the pop of the cork and some ever careful and expert pouring. Funny the things you learned at West Point. Like how to open and pour champagne balanced out with how to kill with your bare hands.

Bunny was off and running, walking around the room like she owned the place and was showing it to some friends who happened to drop by. "Well, like I had mentioned in my letters, there has just been so much going on. Kristen O'Hatfield's father passed away a few months ago, left her the whole estate. Course first thing she did was fire the help. She had a whole new staff brought in. Said her father had gotten lax in his old age. The estate is looking wonderful now. Made me start thinking about what we are going to do. You know, after your done with this military thing." It was nice the way she waved her hand at his "military thing".

During her little speech, Hannibal handed her a full glass, all too aware of a dull ache behind his eyes the had him fighting to keep his teeth from grinding.

Hannibal tilted his glass and gave hers a gentle clink. "Here's to thinking." He took a large sip, doubting that the irony had any effect on Bunny. He was correct. She smiled, pausing long enough to take a breath, giggle just ever so properly, and take a dainty sip of her drink.

"Now Bunny, assuming that this "military thing" doesn't get me blown into a few thousand bloody pieces and sprinkled all over Vietnam, just what plans did you make for me?"

"Oh that's the best part of it all, Jonathan. My Father has it all set up for us. There's a modest estate not too far outside of Washington. It's perfect. Great neighborhood and the schools are wonderful for when we have children. Daddy said that he would buy the estate and once you were back home, you could finance it through his bank. Which won't be a problem at all once you get appointed or elected into political office."

"An estate and children, how charming. And I'm assuming your Father and you have planned for a wedding before hand, just to prevent the unseemly bastard stigma for the children?" Hannibal had learned the art of holding anger in, well below the surface. It was a tool for life and leadership, it was only to be seen when someone needed to learn. But Bunny was challenging all of his well honed skills. She clearly had no idea just how much he hated the idea of his life being planned, without consulting him, without listening to him. Without any Goddamned clue of just how much he and his men were risking every damn day.

"Well, of course. That's why I'm here."

"To fill me in on your plans?"

"For you to propose." She had the decency to leave off the "Silly" at the end of it. "And of course, I say yes!"

"And you decided this after I told you point blank, no marriage until after the war? Until after I'm done killing and trying to keep my men alive and whole?"

"Darling," the sweetness in it was dripping, "that's why _I_ took care of everything."

Hannibal had finished the last of his champagne as she spoke, still looking at her, he hurled the glass into the far wall. The resounding explosion of glass was nothing compared to a good old Vietnam shelling, but it still had her jumping.

"Oh!" A startled little gasp and her gloved hand coming up to her mouth.

"You forgot a few things sweetheart." He let the anger surface. He didn't care. He'd had enough of this. This was no longer a game.

She took a step back, eyes large, running up and down him like she was trying to figure out what was going on. He didn't let her get any further away. Hands on her upper arms he held her still, forcing her to look at him, right in his eyes. Letting her see all of the demons he'd collected – everything she had no fucking clue about – everything that had afforded him the ability to kill more than his fare share of men.

"John!" It was the only real thing she had said the whole time he'd been here, and the reason why he didn't shake her, why he didn't close his hands tighter and force her to finally _see._

"No one tells me what my life will be. That's my call." No one. Not her, not her father, not even Hannibal's father had the Goddamned right to tell him what he was. "My team lives in a world where people rig Goddamned two year olds with bombs, just in the hope that the exploding bones of a child might kill one of us." He held his gaze, cold and steady, on her. "I don't give a damn about the estate help or what the neighbors think. I care about one thing right now and one thing only. Keeping my men safe."

It was as basic as breathing. Simple and clear, and something he'd said more than once. And something she would never understand. She'd never know what it was like, how much it took to stay in control, to live with the fallout, to have to write a letter home to grieving parents and send someone who was yours to lead home in a bag.

Bunny had been pampered and loved and indulged her whole life. War would never be her reality, and she was too full of her own ambition and plans to find room for empathy or support. And it was written all over her face, in a tight frown of confusion.

"But, John… Daddy said you have a _black_ man on your team. And the rest of them are… are in and out of jail and crazy." She was shaking her head, still pulled back a bit further than she should have been from him. "They can't mean more to you than your life back home. With me. When all of this nonsense is over with."

His grip did tighten on her arms with that. Forcing her to realize how serious he was when he spoke. "Every last one of them; the black man, the criminal, the crook, the crazy man, each of them means more to me then you will ever mean to anyone besides yourself." He let go of her, stepping back, no longer trusting or wanting to be too close. He picked his duffel bag up and head towards the door, not bothering to look back. He was done. In that moment, their worlds were irreconcilable. And he wasn't willing to play the game for another second longer.

"The room's yours, I'll take care of the bill. I hope to God I never see you again."

"You can't be serious, this is absurd!" She hadn't moved, standing there like a shocked little proper figurine. "You have everything waiting for you back home, why can't you see that!"

Hannibal pause at the door, shaking his head at her inability to understand this turn of events. She was everything he should have wanted, and not one damn thing that he needed. The rules, the promotions the absurdity of fighting for body counts and walking away from grounds littered with bodies, it was all just useless. Lighting his cigar, he let the deep satisfying rush of smoke hit his lungs. And in that moment he saw the reality of the situation of his life. He wasn't born to be a General or President. He was born to lead. To do that his men had to matter more than anything. More than a wife and family, more than rank and privilege, more than career. Once upon a time he'd lost a team. He would never do that again. Clamping the cigar in his teeth Hannibal embraced the truth of who he was and what his life was about. Not medals or rules or glory, just his men.

"I'm dead serious, sweetheart." He grinned and matter of factly pointed at her with his cigar "Oh and by the way Bunny, you're a spoiled, self centered, manipulative, prejudiced, ignorant elitist with not a care or clue about anything of real value. But don't take it so bad, you'll bounce right back. In fact, I'll tell you what, look up Commander Mifflin You two truly deserve each other." He had the door open and was halfway through it. "Goodbye, darling."

Rules be damned.

XXXX

A wistful sigh to himself, Ray watched the sunlight filter in through the curtains. He wouldn't have minded keeping the blinds open and watching his first peaceful sunrise in more than a year, but Trish was modest and had blushed at the thought of someone being able to see into the room, and he respected that. She was absolutely perfect in every way that he remembered. From her adorable smile to the freckles that spilled down her shoulders, to the way she managed to get shy even when it was just the two of them behind closed doors. He loved it all.

It had felt so good to hold her in his arms again. That first embrace, like they were school kids again, too many nerves and not enough coordination. Only this time Trish had silently wept, her head pressed tightly into his chest as he held her, making sure he was real and it wasn't one of the dreams that she had written him about. It was too good to be true, as though one wrong move and the entire experience would burst into the neverland. It was timid touches and breathless moments lost to too much time away and heated passion.

He'd spent every spare second he had picturing this moment. Every remembered caress and curve of her body - the mole at the top of her butt cheek, a light scar she'd gotten on her thigh from riding her bike when she was eight, the way her hips turned into him and spoke to his body. He needed to remember them all again. Refresh the imagery he had of her. Those trusting and faithful blue eyes, waiting for him, just like she would be in another few weeks when he landed at the airport in the states for good. He wouldn't be going back to Vietnam. As much as he loved the guys and had prepared and accepted dying for any one of them in a heartbeat, he had too much to lose with Trish.

They were going to start a family, buy some property, and just be together. Now, still sleeping against him, after a night of getting to know each other again, the softness of her skin and the heat coming off of her was all he needed. Ray pulled her in a bit tighter to him, letting his eyes slip closed and enjoying the first moments of absolute and true peace that he had experienced his whole life.

 


	11. Chapter 11

1500 in the afternoon on a Monday and surprisingly enough, the bar was half empty. Apparently it was not prime drinking time for most of the free world. That was fine with Murdock. Mostly 'cause the not empty half consisted mainly of his team and people who weren't actively trying to kill him. It was a nice change of pace.

So was the air conditioning and nonexistent repressive humidity. Even the street clothes and lack of combat boots was something to appreciate and savor.

Face said something to the waitress that had her giggling as she set down the fresh round of drinks. There was an extra swing in her hips on her return trip to the bar. It was a nice view that all of the guys at the table enjoyed watching.

"To whatever Face said to make her walk that way," Murdock help up his glass. Not just any glass by the way. It was an honest to God clean, real glass beer mug. Filled with real, honest to God, ice cold beer. It was like a freezing cold slice of heaven, in a convenient glass.

Wearing a large smile, Face joined in the toast, raising his mug to the center of the group with the rest of the team. "I do have a gift." There was an appreciative sigh at the end of it.

Cruiser was resting his elbows on the table, bottle in hand. "Gift, my ass, man. Chicks clothes are still on." Clear and simple it wasn't going to count as anything until Face had sealed the deal, at least not in Cruiser's world.

Face shook his head and took a sip of beer. "You've got to enjoy the chase, Cruiser."

"You enjoy the chase, sucker." BA was snarling over his real honest to God cow, not Water Buffalo, not Goat, but Cow's milk. Murdock wasn't surprised, hell none of them were. BA was as locked down and strict as a Southern Baptist preacher at a prom. It was just how BA was wired. Near as Murdock could see, the guy never let go or smiled unless he had just built something or decked a particularly annoying officer. It was nice to see him have fun, just for once, but hey you couldn't expect miracles. Maybe that's why Murdock almost choked on his beer when BA grinned and added "I'd rather enjoy the ladies."

"The chase just makes enjoying them an even better payoff."

"Don't need no payoff to enjoy 'em." BA.. he.. Murdock's brain did a happy little skip. There was no doubt about it. BA was enjoying talking shit with them. Christmas came early.

"Now wait a second, hold up there, big guy." Murdock sat his beer down and cocked an eyebrow at BA. "Are you trying to tell your good ol' buddy Murdock that you've got better game than Face?" It was a direct dare, one that Murdock knew for sure Face would run with, and he hoped like hell BA would too.

"I would take that bet just to see the look on Face's face when he loses." Cruiser laughed at the whole idea.

"I got a twenty on the big guy." Murdock shrugged at Faces offended look. "Sorry Face. I got your six and all, but I gotta go with BA on this."

Face almost looked offended at that. "You know, if you're going to test my skills here, you should at least make it worth my time."

"What do you say, BA?" Cruiser was looking between the two of them, "Whoever lands the waitress first? You give Face a handicap preference with the head start." His smile turned wicked at the challenge.

"I ain't bettin' on that. BA Barracus don't kiss and tell" BA's growl was real. Looked like play time was over. "But I kin bet you that she leave here with me, not Face." BA reached into his pocket and dropped a twenty on the table

The shock alone had Murdock laughing out loud, for real. Like he hadn't laughed in a long time.

Face looked far too confident about the whole thing. And somehow the guy was suddenly just oozing sex as he lounged on the chair at the table. Funny considering he hadn't moved a muscle. "You want to bet on who she leaves with first?" Yup. dumbest bet. Ever.

Before anyone had a chance to reply, the door clanged open and in walked Hannibal. He didn't look at all surprised to see them there. "Gentlemen, I see you're starting R and R off right."

"Hannibal!" Murdock was up, clamping an arm on the bosses shoulder. "You got time to have a drink?" There was no reason to ask that, no reason to feel so damn happy at seeing Hannibal in a dive bar. Maybe it was the fact that Hannibal was the heart of the team, or maybe it was just things were always safer with him around. Not like any of that really mattered. There were rules that even Hannibal had to follow, and none of them allowed for having a drink with the guys who would kill and die for him, and vice versa.

Hannibal's normal shit eating grin beamed right back at him. "Damn right I do." Hannibal cackled, pulling out a cigar as the table shifted and room was made. "So," Hannibal started as he sat down, "What's going on?" The pile of money in the center of the table was more than enough of a clue.

Murdock's shock at Hannibal joining them disappeared into a smile that started in his boots. "BA was just about to educate Face in the fine art of picking up women." Murdock couldn't help it, he really couldn't. The opportunity to start trouble always had an irresistible magnetic appeal to him.

"Well that ought to be good."

Cruiser slid an empty beer mug across the table to Hannibal who easily caught it. "Who's the lucky lady?"

Face tipped his head towards the bar, towards a young lady who was straight out of a Hawaiian vacation pinup calendar, brightly colored lei and all. She was of course watching Face, her smile getting bigger at his attention. Seems BA would have his work cut out for him. That didn't seem to be stopping the big man from pushing it further.

"Sucker's got a lot to learn to 'bout the ladies."

"I haven't heard any of them complaining." Face was way too cocky about this. BA didn't make bets and he didn't throw down smack talk unless he knew he could back it up. No running your mouth no matter what was Cruiser's game. And Face wasn't taking that into account. Not like Murdock. "Everybody in?" Face was reaching for the pot like any of them would trust him to hold it.

BA's hand came out of nowhere, landing right on top of Face's, stopping him just a few inches short of the prize. "You wanna play you gotta pay."

BA's fierce growl was balanced by Murdock's barking laughter. "Big guy got you on that one, Face."

Face's smile just turned choir boy innocent, eyes wide like it had been an honest mistake. There wasn't a soul in all the world that would be able to call him a liar. Except the for people who knew him best who happened to be sitting around the table with him.

"Right, BA."

BA snarled out a warning before letting Face's hand up so he could pull his own twenty out and toss it on the pot. Smiling the whole time like nothing had happened. "See there big guy, all in." Funny how Face even then held open hands up for everyone to see… almost like he'd been accused of cheating before...

Keeping his eyes on Face's, BA scooped up the cash and dropped it in front of Hannibal. "Hannibal hold the dough." Wise choice all things considered. Things being Face's habit of causing mayhem.

"Happy to." Hannibal didn't miss a beat, straightening out the pile of cash and folding it up before slipping it into the breast pocket of his baby blue button down shirt for safe keeping.

BA didn't waste anytime. Without a word he looked at his watch and was up, moving to the bar with the grace of a Panther.

Lighting himself a smoke Murdock divided his time between watching BA and watching Face watch BA with studious and curious eyes. There wasn't a whole lot to watch, not at first. BA had spent a lot of time in bars thanks to the team, but they sure weren't his natural habitat. Nope, the big guy was most at ease in a room full of parts, not a room full of half lit (or completely lit in some cases) people. His discomfort was clear even across the room. It had Face beaming with unbearable smugness.

"You guys can go ahead and just give me the money now. Make things simple and less embarrassing for the challenger over there."

"You kidding me?" Cruiser chimed in and drained the rest of his beer before reaching for another bottle. "I paid for a show."

Face just shrugged, leaning back in the chair and watching, as smooth as Cool Hand Luke himself, like he didn't have a care in the world.

"Colonel, what's got you slummin'?"

"Change of plans, looks like I'll be staying with you guys." Hannibal was grinning. Not the usual 'I'm Laughing at you and the Entire World' grin either. This was different, this was his grade A, USDA Prime, 'The Plan Went off the Rails and I'm Going to Love Every Moment of it', smiles. Yes, Hannibal had oddly specific smiles. The trick was in knowing which was which.

"If things go right you can take BA's bed." Cruiser volunteered before cutting his antagonizing look over to Face. "Sorry Face, I think he's got her number."

Murdock howled in laughter, both at Face's shocked look and BA's skills. Damn, he loved the states!

XXXXX

For Face, it turned out the cure to relaxation was simple; booze, more booze, and some good old fashioned sins of the flesh. Alana smiled into the kiss, her hands on his ass, pulling him further against her. She felt good. Warm, and soft, and alive in a way that he had forgotten existed, and had never been able to get lost to. His hands slid underneath her shirt and up her back as she pushed his shirt off of his shoulders. He let her go long enough to let the shirt drop to the floor, catching a quick glance of Murdock and June in an equally tangled embrace.

They'd left the bar not too long after BA had won the pot and graced them with a nice I Told You So smile. It wasn't what Face expected, but it didn't really matter. There were plenty of women on the island and it didn't take long for them to run into Alana and June. It took even less time for them to decide they all wanted far more of each other than was allowed in public. June had a tiny apartment a few blocks from the beach that they'd all gone back to. And all of it was details that Face didn't feel like paying attention to. No, what he wanted Alana had, and she was just as eager to give it as Face was to receive it.

Wet kisses down his neck, the scraping of her teeth making his skin prick in response. "I want you." Her breath was warm in his ear, just for a second before she latched on to his neck, using her lips and tongue to imitate what she could do to other, more sensitive body parts. What had his attention was the unbroken English and oh so American accent.

He groaned his appreciation, hands running down her long back as he let his fingers slip inside her skirt and explore her ass. "And I want you." He punctuated the words with soft kisses, never pulling his lips away from her as he explored. Even pressed against him as tight as she was, it felt like she wasn't close enough to be real and truly there under his fingertips. "All night and all day and all different ways."

"Um, maybe then we could use something to help set the mood." While she was purring in his ear, Alana's hands slipped over his and together they pushed her skirt and panties off, exposing soft, white skin.

How long had it been since he'd seen true white skin... and pussy? Moist pink folds of tender flesh inviting him to sing her praises. That thought alone had him groaning in want and the blood pooling in his groin. "What'd you have in mind?"

Hanging on to one hand, Alana reached behind her, into the drawer of the small end table. Face's imagination went into overdrive at just what could be in that drawer. So many naughty options, and he was game for any of it. He wasn't expecting her to hold up a joint. "A little something to open the mind and heighten the mood." Joint still in hand, she wound her self back around him, her very naked, warm body molding to his again to share a deep probing kiss.

"Heighten the mood." He kept the taunt out of it with a charming smile that didn't waiver. In his experience it dulled the senses into a cottony pillow of tranquil.

"Sex without inhibitions is mind blowing."

Was the whole island high? He gave her a deep, probing kiss, showing her exactly how uninhibited he was. "Inhibition has never been my problem."

She just smiled back at him and found her lighter. Taking a deep breath Face looked over to Murdock. Maybe he was having better luck with June.

He wasn't, even though he should have been. June's dress was gone, along with the rest of her clothes. She was on her knees, hands running along Murdock's naked thighs. That wasn't what caught Face's attention. What had him plummeting back into memories of mud and burning flesh and screams, was the look on Murdock's face.

It was his eyes and the silent scream. Wide open and staring at Face, and in horror at a girl who was long dead. Every line of Murdock's body was locked tight and rigid with tension and terror, tightly wound and under a hair trigger that had Face moving. It was only a step across the whole apartment and Face's hand was on June's shoulder, hard enough to not be argued with as he guided her back up. A quick glance to Murdock let him know that simply removing June from the equation was not enough to make it all go back to where they couldn't see it again.

"Alana wanted to set a more… relaxed mood." He let a stupid smile float across his lips just in case there was any question as to what he was referencing. June got it, those two hadn't just met and getting high was always more fun in groups. She was smiling at him, hand floating across his groin as she passed him and went over to Alana to light up.

Face didn't say anything when he turned back to Murdock, just raised his brow in an unspoken question. Beads of sweat, not the good kind. Not the hot in the moment of passion and sex kind, no it was the cold, awful, stomach churning kind of sweat were running down Murdock's brow. It was several long quiet seconds before Murdock was looking at him. And God fucking damn it there it was again. Everything Face didn't want to think about, the bodies, the blood and mud, and the raw animal urge to kill - it was everything Murdock couldn't hide. In one fucking heartbeat it was all back and fighting to draw Face into the past.

Without talking or even unfucking curling the hands he had knotted into tight fist, Murdock said it all without one fucking word. Murdock was a man drowning in sickening pain and anger. Face knew what happened if the anger won. It was one thing to witness it deep in the jungles of 'Nam against sick fucks who didn't deserve to live. It was another monster entirely if it came out here. Where normal was as normal does.

He didn't think about it, they'd been through it before. A hand on either side of Murdock's head, Face made the pilot look at him. Deep tormented brown eyes met his, words too complicated to ever be formed flew between them. And in that moment time stood still, the girls not five feet away, inhaling that sweet aroma to a land far away, ceased to exist, and there wasn't a damn thing around except them. Murdock lost in the past and Face trying his damnedest to anchor him to the present and not fall to the past himself.

" _Am I safe Facey?"_ It was a question that didn't get said out loud. Words couldn't convey what that meant. It was beyond the two men with unknown names, and it was part of them. It was something no normal man needed to connect with and was a reminder of how fucked up their normal was.

" _Yes. You're safe and I'm here."_

Murdock got the message in Face's look. Face knew even before Murdock's ice cold hands grabbed his and held them to Murdock's temples, like he needed something to hold on to. He did. Murdock could see for miles in the sky, but he got lost in the dark on the ground. Face's demons like to indulge in things that would kill him with pleasure - death by avarice. Murdock's demons tried to hold him down and lock him in, forever, tight in their nightmare grip.

Head slowly tilting forward, Face pulled Murdock's towards him until their foreheads met. It was several shaky breaths before Murdock managed to close his eyes and speak "Yeah, maybe ya'll best heighten the mood ladies. I'm just gonna.." Murdock let go of Face and jerked his thumb towards the bathroom door. "You know take a minute." Accent getting thicker by the second Murdock even worked up a small grin. "Enjoy darlin'. I'll be right back."

Heighten the senses and dull the world. Face watched him leave, closing the bathroom door behind him. If only it were that simple to get the image of Sunshine lying there lifeless in the mud, eyes wide open and staring at him, out of his Goddamned head.

Long smooth fingers on Face's back almost had him jumping. Keeping the surprise internal he turned to see Alana, eyes glossy and full of wonder. She drew herself up on her tiptoes, hand going to his neck, she pulled him in for a kiss, exhaling her smoke into his mouth. Why fight it? He could use some dulling right about now. Face sank into the kiss, his hand running along her arm until he found hers, he took the joint from her fingers. Keeping her naked body pressed tight against him, it didn't take long before he was taking a deep toke of the joint. The burning hot smoke hit his lungs and seeped into his head, turning things to that dull cottony feeling, honing down the edges, and making things like time and distance variable. And shoving those postcard flashes of a time he didn't want to remember back to the recesses of his mind. It let him forget and focus on the touch and feel of Alana and June.

XXXXX

He'd sobered up for this?

Cruiser was wandering around from store to store with BA trying to find gifts. Again. Well, he was, BA had made quick work of it once they'd gotten to the store he needed. Cruiser had tagged along on the premise that if he were in the store with BA, who was embracing the shopping experience that Cruiser dreaded, maybe some of it would sink into Cruiser - osmosis or something and Cruiser would be able to figure out what the hell to get for Katie.

She deserved something. Hell, she deserved everything and yet none of it seemed right. No matter what he wound up walking away from the store with, boxing up, and sending to her, she'd love it. BA was right, she loved drawing, but somehow sending her a box of pastels or graphite pencils seemed lame.

BA was carefully inspecting a deep red hat and coat. One that was heavy wool and out of place in Hawaii, but one that apparently his Momma would love through and through. And not one thing around seemed like something Cruiser's sister would like. "How do you know she's going to like that?"

"Cause it's the same that used ta make her smile even when she was dog tired from workin' three jobs.'" It was just as simple as that to him. BA's dark face split into a grin. "Don't know how Face did it."

Eyes narrowing at BA, Cruiser didn't bother to hide the skepticism. "The _same_ one? Exact same?" Face was good, but that seemed ridiculous. Either that or something Face was wheeling and dealing and BA was buying up oceanfront property in Arizona.

"That it. Exact same one. Drew him a sketch, told him the store it was in and when, and dude make it appear. Too bad he a fool or he could have some serious game."

"Face don't need serious game. Higher the stakes the bigger the boss you're stealing from is."

"That's why he a fool. Smart man know his game limit. He don't." BA's growl was firmly in place, but it was hard not to notice the way he was looking at that coat and brilliant hat. Like he could see his Momma smiling at it.

Cruiser's game limit was zero. He'd watched Face and Murdock run wild with them though. Taking one end goal and arranging the whole caper twenty moves out. Adjusting things here and there when their master plan didn't didn't go quite right. In the end, they always seemed to come out on top. Even if it did wind up with Cruiser and BA busting some heads up while they slank out of the back doors.

That was a problem with running scams on a military base. You couldn't run far and everybody had guns. Friendly fire wasn't always an accident. Just like those SEALS they'd been squaring off against. Hannibal and Spider and made them all pay side by side in a way that Cruiser could still feel. But it had kept those two alive past the teams' next mission.

"Eventually someone will teach him." Cruiser flipped his fingers along a clothing rack, not really considering any of them for Katie. He didn't know her size or her style.

BA nodded and pulled out his wallet, settling up the tab. Packages in hand he turned and looked at the pastel and oil sets Cruiser had been eying up. "You should get that for yo' sister."

"You think?"

"Yeah, get her the oils, pastels, charcoals, and some paper. Put in a drawin' you do. Something just she would get. Somethin' special, that make it feel right."

"It's just a drawing." They did it all the time. Katie would send him a doodle and he'd send one back. If it was something that only she would get, it would be his fist clenched tightly around a gray cat's neck and it's cartoon eyes bulging out of its stupidly whiskered head. He knew that. Why it made it special was a different thing.

"Nah man, it something you do just for her and she does for you. You don't draw for no one else and what she draw, you keep. That's all it takes, man."

"It's all beyond me." Cruiser let the shopkeeper know what he wanted and a minute later, cash exchanged, he was holding a bag full of art supplies all nice and contained in a sleek Cedar box. "How'd you know I draw?"

BA shrugged his massive shoulders. It looked a little like watching a mudslide. "You do it when it quiet and you ain't reading."

Cruiser just watched BA for a moment. For a guy that was most well known for being nothing more than a grease monkey, he was more than a little observant. Cruiser didn't keep his down time hobbies to himself, but he didn't go out of his way to share what he was doing either. And the occasional doodle here and there when he had a moment of peace and quiet and gone unnoticed by everyone else. At least he thought.

"You know you're supposed to be a greasemonkey, not Freud."

"Who Freud?" It took Cruiser a few beats to figure out Bad Attitude Baracus was fucking with him. BA let him off the hook with another shrug. "Where I grew up, it payed to keep your mouth shut and your eyes open."

Cruiser didn't say anything else. He didn't need to.

 


	12. Chapter 12

Bright, clear, sunlight filtered through the tropical print curtains and got stuck in the haze of smoke that was leftover from the night before.

Smoke - something every pilot feared.

It had Murdock bolt up right - panic and logic crashing into each other and fighting for the upper hand. _Fuck_. Smoke - danger - but the soft naked woman beside him countered that _?_ Heart trying to run its way out of his chest, Murdock was reaching for weapons he didn't have. He was a blink away from fighting his way out of dodge when he saw Face. Sound asleep, with a naked brunette wrapped around him, her dark hair fanned out around Face like a blanket.

Hawaii.

Leave, rest, relaxation, fun.

Fuck, he'd forgot. Sagging back against the couch, Murdock took deep, calming breaths, making himself feel where he was at. He concentrated on the fabric itching along his back, the silky, warm, soft, feminine body under his hand, the smell of tropical flowers and the cloying scent of stale pot smoke and sex.

It was the last two that had him silently slipping away from June. There wasn't really a need to be quiet. She was all but passed out from whatever they had been smoking and several rounds of sweat inducing, name screaming, oh my God yes sex. It should have had Murdock just as boneless and relaxed. It didn't. Pulling on his boxers, Murdock grabbed his smokes and a bottle of gin and slipped out onto the patio. Or was it a lania? Face would know the difference. Right now Murdock didn't care. Right now all Murdock wanted was fresh air and ocean breezes.

Things that didn't have one Goddamned thing to do with Vietnam or Texas.

It wasn't long before Face joined Murdock on the balcony, he had always been a light sleeper. And this morning was no different, Face was a mess, hair strewn everywhere, bite marks and soft red streaks from the girls' nails. Murdock couldn't say much, he looked just as bad if not worse. Reaching over to the pack of smokes on the railing, Face didn't say anything, it wasn't time for words yet. He pulled a cigarette out and lit it up, finally leaning back against the railing. It was good to see him relaxed.

Murdock took a drag of his own smoke and looked at Face, letting the silence do the talking. It was better that way. Things with them were clearer when the nothing did the talking. Like now, one look let Face know Murdock was here and together and last night's slip up was an unexpected aberration And damn yes, Murdock was glad as hell that Face was there to keep the monsters from winning this time.

One look from Face let Murdock know that Face got it and it was all good. Nothing more than a favor Murdock would repay one day. And there was no doubting that.

Knowing that part of the talk was done, Murdock took a swig from the bottle and was once again reminded of how close gin was to tasting like floor cleaner. Oh well, he'd had worse. Taking his time with his bottle and smoke, Murdock found himself looking up at the incredible blue Hawaiian sky and wondering what the seagulls thought when the air currents off the ocean sent them higher and faster, almost out of sight of land and people.

Murdock, for once didn't have to run off with the conversation. Face would start when he was ready. Until then Murdock was fine with doing barrel rolls and death dives with the seagulls.

"I miss the beaches." If Murdock hadn't been listening, he would have missed it getting lost to the breeze.

"You're in the right place to make up for some lost sand time." Murdock grew up in Northwest Texas, beaches were new territory for him to explore. If they made Face relax then why the hell not. Murdock was in, and hey and maybe it could be like an offering for Face. "You wanna get the girls and go explore?"

"Yeah." Face threw a glance back towards the room where the two naked women were still laying. It had been a fun night. "I heard there was a pier that goes pretty far out into the ocean not too far from here."

"Sounds good." Murdock took another swig and lit another smoke. "Hey Face, how come you didn't offer me a toke last night?"

When Murdock had finished splashing his face with cold water and staring at himself in the bathroom mirror last night, he'd come out to a scene that was all too familiar. Except this time he didn't have to turn anyone down, and the women who had joined them were there because they wanted to be.

Still leaning his weight on the railing, Face watched him with a sideways glance. "You knew where to get it if you wanted it." Shrugging Face just smiled at him with a lazy grin. "Besides, you can't fly if you're high."

"My sister used to smoke it all the time. Don't think I can remember a time when Lanie didn't smell like pot. I kinda think it helped her forget Mom was long dead and the man she'd left us with was all fist, kicks, and wrong looks."

Overhead the bird he'd been watching stalled out, dropping altitude and tumbling over and over in a free fall and then righted himself and soared up towards the clouds. Damn that looked like fun. Wonder if you could do that in a chopper? "When she took off I went with her. Kinda figured anywhere we went to was better than where we came from, you know?" Cocking his head away from the sky Murdock looked at Face.

Face nodded. Not offering any of his own commentary, but Murdock could see his eyes drifting back. It was a statement that hit close to home for him.

"Thing was, she wasn't runnin' to anything, she was runnin' away from shit we couldn't control. Ended up in alleys and flophouses doing whatever, just so she could get high and not feel anymore. Till she was all gone and it was just drugs and pain left,"

"Away is full of possibilities, Murdock." He didn't hide the wonder and allure Away seemed to hold. Turning back towards the ocean, smoke being forced from his nostrils, Face was lost to his own wandering thoughts. Murdock just watched as Face's eyes slipped closed and he took a deep breath. Face and Lanie, they were the same that way. Always wanting to feel good and always running to where the real couldn't touch them anymore. Lanie had let it destroy her though. And Murdock had been too young to stop it that time around. And this time? He didn't know. Hell half the time he didn't know why he told Face things. Other than Face understood and sometimes he needed to hear it. Maybe he could listen and not learn the hard way this time.

Murdock nodded and dropped his cigarette butt to the ground, already lighting another one. It was nice and automatic, nothing he needed to think about. "I wanna forget things, Face. I wanna be safe and numb to it. But it can't be like that. It's got to be real. We've gotta be real. One hit, Face, one night without dreams and we ain't coming back. And if we ain't around, what keeps people safe from me and everything I have hiding inside?" Once again he was looking, really fucking looking at Face - into the perfect liars eyes and to the kid who was so hurt and scared he spent all his time trying to feel good and be on top so he didn't have to see or deal.

Last night, Murdock could have hurt someone just like that. He could have stayed lost and trapped and fighting monsters that he'd already slit open and gutted. The thought of how close he'd come and what could have happened if Face hadn't been there, or had been too high? No shit had to be said. "Can't let the guard down, Face. There's too much to lose." It wasn't just Murdock's life or Face's life anymore, and they both knew it. If one of them went down, the other was going too.

"I know. Sometimes I just want a time out. Forget it all and just feel good and relaxed for once."

That was all Lanie wanted too. All it got her was used and old and sadder. He couldn't let it happen again, but damned if Murdock knew how to stop it. There had to be something though. He couldn't just give up, not on Face.

"Yeah. Maybe some time with them." Murdock nodded to the two beautiful girls in the little apartment. "At the beach, listen to the waves. Or maybe some con game. Hell Face, anything you want, anything you need to get a little quiet that ain't the end game of pills, needles, or smoking, we will get. No regrets."

"No regrets, Murdock." Face was looking at him now, the way he did when he was serious, and more importantly, when he wasn't bullshitting him. "I'm good. I'm not gonna turn into some used up junkie. It's R and R. I'll get back to the straight and narrow when the pajama party starts shooting at us again."

The door opened and there was June standing in the sunlight, wearing nothing but Murdock's shirt. The talk was over, it was time to start living and find some other way to turn off the pain and amp up the fun. Find the place where Face and he could just be real and be able to handle it. There had to be a way. Murdock was older and wiser now and Face was every bit of a brother as Lanie was his sister. Maybe more so. Face had walked through the shadow of the valley of death with Murdock and he'd made sure they both found their way out. It was something you didn't just forget. It was too important.

It was time to start having that fun again. Sliding over to June and dropping his arm over her shoulders, Murdock took the reigns. "Hey Darlin'. Face here says there's a pier close by that got all kinds of ocean magic. Can't wait to see it with you and Alana. Maybe hear some Dolphin song and see some birds, or even vice versa." June looked up at him and smiled, blinking, clearly still half asleep and working to catch up. Best way for that? Murdock kissed her, not with hot passion, but a 'Hello, Time to Have Fun' kiss. A little loose and reckless. Kind of setting the pace. "But first I gotta ask Face something." Tipping the bottle in his hand, Murdock grinned at Face, letting the wild need for fun to peak out at the edges. "Is this a patio or a laini?"

XXXXX

"You know, BA, I'm surprised. Almost two weeks and no one has wound up in a holding cell." Hannibal almost didn't know what to do with himself. Wrapped in a thick terry cloth robe, he was lounging on the chaise. The glass French door of the hotel open and a nice sea breeze blowing through the room. Just enough to keep everything fresh.

"You ain't surprised man, you got both me and Ray's money off that."

Hannibal just smiled at BA. That earned him a growl.

"How you know they was gonna keep their stupid contained?"

The door to the bedroom opened just then. Cruiser and the woman he'd come back with last night headed towards the front door. The fun of their night was over. The boredom was written all over Cruiser's face. He was ready to be done with her. "There's plenty of distractions to keep them out of trouble."

"It's the distractions that get 'em in trouble."

Cruiser opened the door for the woman, a disinterested kiss goodbye and he was shutting the door before she had a chance to even figure out which way the elevator was. It was a good thing Cruiser could take a punch and it was amazing that he didn't get hit more often. But his sergeant's lack of social graces was not something Hannibal needed to worry himself about.

"Well, there's trouble and then there's _trouble._ "

BA shook his head. "They ain't right man."

That Hannibal wouldn't argue with. They weren't right. And none of them would be while a Viet Cong bullet lurked around every corner with their name on it. What was a lecture or a jail cell when Death was knocking on your doorstep as it was?

"It take two of 'em to make one person."

"They just a need a few less things to crash against." War was a great equalizer. It didn't care about who you were or what your story was. It took whatever weakness you had and it broke you with it. Murdock was already broken. He was compensating right now with Face. Face though? Face still had a chance to make it out. But that chance was dwindling and the show at the airport had made that perfectly clear.

"Something happen to one of 'em and you gonna lose the other." It was the lack of anger or growling in BA's voice that got Hannibal's attention.

"No BA, Face needs to grow up and Murdock needs to realize Face isn't the only answer." It was almost as simple as it sounded. Hannibal had watched those two go from hating each other to stuck at the hip. At least when they hated each other it was only the team that got dragged into their bullshit. Now it was whoever happened to wind up on the wrong side of too much energy.

Beer fresh out of the fridge, Cruiser dropped onto the couch. "Nah," Cruiser said flipping the top off the bottle, "Murdock's gonna lose his shit no matter what. Just a matter of time."

That got a growl from BA to which Cruiser just raised his brow. A silent challenge for some facts to point out he was wrong.

"Face keep him grounded and he keep Face from goin' too far." BA's arms were folded tight, but Hannibal noted, BA wasn't denying anything Cruiser said.

It was interesting that BA thought Murdock kept Face from escalating and going too far. Hannibal had seen too many times how that wasn't the case. Murdock would interfere and they both wound up in an escalated situation. It was just one that Face couldn't claim or deny on his own.

"How long you think that's gonna last, BA?" Cruiser asked as he kicked back. "Murdock was batshit crazy the day I met him and he still is. Face is just a distraction for the crazy."

"Face an anchor for Murdock and Murdock keep Face too busy to try big scheme, fool jive like before. They like two gears, as long as they workin' together it's alright."

Cruiser didn't argue it. Letting the conversation go with a shrug. He had never been one to argue a well known point. BA was right though. Face and Murdock were more co dependent than a set of Siamese twins. "Those days are numbered, BA."

"All of our days numbered."

"True," Hannibal agreed, "but Face is short and the last thing I want is for him to wind up back in jail inside of two weeks back in the World."

"If he ain't got Murdock or us, he gonna end up dead."

Hannibal didn't say anything to that, letting it echo in the room. It may be true, but Face had never wanted to be in Vietnam in the first place. His time with Hannibal's team had been extended beyond the first mission only because Hannibal had seen his potential. Mifflin had pushed for a dishonorable discharge and Hannibal had fought to at least give the kid a chance to prove himself. After what Ivan - that Russian fuck - had put him through, Face deserved at least that.

It wasn't Hannibal's place to talk him into going indefinite into a death sentence. No one would ask a friend to do that.

XXXXX

Face let himself lay there on the sandy beach. They'd found that pier and it was just as gorgeous as he'd heard. They'd ended up there every day. Old growth lumber that had been beaten by years of storms and Hawaiian surf, faded by the sun until parts were almost white, others colored green by algae and seaweed. It held it's own beauty that was far away from the refined upper class Edridge Knots, champagne, and Rolex watches he'd only managed to view from the outside. But that was America for you - land of the free, home of the poor, run by rich, and balance maintained by the powerful.

Face let out a deep breath that echoed the crashing of the waves not a hundred feet away. No matter where he turned, there he was. Right back to where he didn't want to be. He pushed himself up, careful not to disturb Alana as he reached over the curves of her warm body, chest slowly rising and falling with her deep, slumbering breaths, and grabbed his boxers. What little time they had left here, Face wanted to enjoy. Not dwell on the past, a nonexistent future, and everything in between that wouldn't leave him alone.

Fingers slipping inside of Alana's open purse, he pulled out her cigarette case, grabbing a joint before snapping it closed and putting it back. Face glanced around, making sure Murdock was there before lighting the blunt. Murdock wouldn't breath a word about it to Hannibal, but in truth, if Face were really honest, a small part of him felt guilty about putting Murdock in that spot. They could just add it to the list of things Hannibal didn't need to ever know about.

Postcard images of crimson blood mixing with mud and slicking pale skin and Face was inhaling as deep and as fast as he could. Keeping the unwanted memories at the bay of a haze. Face sat back, away from the rest of the group looking out at the waves and letting himself sink into that drug induced sedate. Not being able to relax was fine when everyone in your corner of the world was trying to kill you. Now though? It was downright fucked that he couldn't leave Vietnam in Vietnam the moment his feet had left foreign soil. He only had a short time left here and he was damn well going to enjoy it.

Out in the water, Face finally spotted Murdock, dancing with the waves until he was finally deep enough to swim out towards some rocks the water had been lapping at. Up and out of the water and back in in screwball dives that had Face wincing at the idea of unseen rocks. Murdock may be an ocean virgin, but he wasn't dumb. He just seemed to swim like he flew; right on sanitie's edge. Snuffing the last of the join out in the sand, Face headed out to join Murdock. The water was just was just as warm as he remembered the California surf to be, maybe warmer and definitely bluer. Swimming out, it took him longer than it should have to reach the rocks, but he was out of practice. Pulling himself up, water draining off of him and pooling in the rock crevices, Face found a perch, and took a seat.

It wasn't long before Murdock was pulling himself out of the water and flopping down next to Face. "Gotta hand it to you Face, you were right about the Ocean." From the grin to the long legs pulled up and tan arms dropped over the his knees, everything about Murdock projected an area of laid back calm. It was bullshit.

"Nothing beats it." Face didn't fight with the silence that settled in around them. Letting his mind wander to the sandy beaches of his childhood. "I used to spend all day on the water. Nothing gets women like a surfboard."

"Who you kidding? You don't need any help getting women." Murdock's grin widened, but like Face his eyes were on the water.

Chuckling at that deep in the back of his throat, Face shook his head. "Wrong clothes, wrong hair, wrong everything… the board didn't hurt."

"Is that why you really went to the beach? The women? Or was that just an added bonus?"

"They were a bonus. I would sneak out before mass and get to the beach before anyone else was really out there." Looking out over the horizon line, Face let his mind wander, feeling the California sand between his toes and sun on his skin. It had been an escape. Probably the first time he'd given a girl a fake name and made up a life better than his. It had him smiling. "I did not say no to the women though."

"You were raised by nuns? That explains.." He hesitated. Face saw the flicker, of pain and sadness, new and old, just for a second before Murdock ducked his head and looked back out at the water again. "That explains why you're so good at cards, you got an in with God. And here I was thinking you were cheatin' and all..."

"If you could explain that the next time I get unjustly accused of cheating that would be great."

"Sure thing Face." Everything was just half a frame off. Murdock was better at covering then people thought, but Face knew.

"What?" Face couldn't help it. Murdock was off, covering something and Face wanted to know what.

"I've always got your six." That was one hundred percent true, Face didn't need to read the tells to know that.

"I know. So what's up?"

"This is a first for me. Never been in the ocean before. Did all my swimming in creeks and pools." Murdock, as usual, was looking up at the sky. "Gotta say, the ocean has 'em all beat."

"It has a way of doing that." Face had always been able to lose himself to the vastness of the ocean. The horizon line that held endless possibilities. There, looking out at the nothing was always the key to everything.

"Sounds like somethin' nice to go back to."

An unbelieving laugh that the pot let out escaped him. Face hadn't been on that California beach in years. "Nah, there's nothing there for me." And if he really thought about, he knew there never had been. Lies and stupid teenage games. All of which had wound up sending him with a one way ticket to Vietnam.

"Yeah I get that." Murdock sigh was almost lost under the sound of the surf. "I ain't coming back. There's nothing here for me." He was matter of fact in that way he was so good at. No one ever expected the direct truth, not really.

"Just 'cause you get discharged doesn't mean you have to go back to the states."

"There ain't many places for mostly crazy pilots and combat trained con men." Murdock's grin was still there, but he got that look in his eyes. "I figure the world's a safer place if I just stay where I am." He turned his head away, and looked at Face. "Besides, for once, I got a home. Sure, it's a hot, muddy, snake infested, slice of hell where these tiny little bastards with guns keep trying to kill you. But other than that, it's real nice."

"That's not anyone's home." Face shook his head, the jungle, gunfire, misery, and sheer human waste wasn't a place for anyone. "I don't know where else to go though, you know?" He could barely hear his own words over the surf crashing against the rocks. His eyes slid closed, he'd picked up the paperwork for indefinite status a couple weeks ago. His numbers were getting short but commitment one way or the other had escaped him so far.

"The team's there, Face. Not much else matters anymore, you know?"

"Yeah." He let those those words resonate around them, hitting the core of what magnified his complete loss back in the World. Without the team there was no him. And in that regard the World was more empty than Vietnam. He'd known for a long time that things had been different since he'd met Hannibal. They'd finally started to make sense, the chaos he'd been living, calming. But signing those papers... it opened things up somehow. The commitment was coming from him and for some reason, that made a chill run down his spine. "I know it, Murdock."

"I joined up thinking I would learn to fly everything and after I got my time in I'd become an experimental pilot. Be in charge of millions of dollars of R and D, scream off, breaking records. Further, faster, higher. Taming the sky. Being in charge of the air." The laugh didn't reach his eyes. His gaze went back to the shore and the two women sleeping there, arms thrown over each other. "Now I don't even trust myself alone in a room with a woman, let alone breaking speed records." The muscles in his cheek twitched. A tell Face had picked up on a long time ago. Murdock's next words would be a lie or half truth.

"You should get out Face, pack it in, ditch the military and move to here, or Fiji, or anyplace with a steady supply of beaches and women. There's a lot of living you could do with that."

"I don't know where I'm going, Murdock. I joined up to stay out of jail." He shook his head at how well that had worked. "But what to do… I've never had a real goal except to get out of where I was. That's probably not the best."

"Runnin' with no destination don't work for any of us." Murdock shrugged. "There's not much of a future, not for us. It's just today, and even that's iffy."

"Oh it's all fucked, Murdock." Face let out a deep sigh, head falling backwards as he looked up at a sky so blue that it hurt his bloodshot eyes. "It's just the type of fucked you wanna be. Come on, let's get outta here."

Murdock's hand grabbed his arm, keeping him from getting to his feet. "Stay."

"What? Why?" Was there something Murdock wanted to do? Aside from some diving off this berg there wasn't much else going on here.

"With the team, Face. Stay."

Face sat back down, looking at Murdock, reading those deep brown eyes even through the haze in his head, it was clear that Murdock was asking for a life line. What that meant though… Their friendship had been born of blood and death and in this moment was a lifeline that ensured their peril. It was an invitation to go down in flames for the only thing that had ever meant anything in his short life. "I have the paperwork."

"I know, it ain't right to ask. But coming back to the states is just more headin' to nowhere. Only place we belong is with the team."

"You're not asking. This whole thing..." He jerked his chin towards the shoreline with the girls. "It's all a facade, an escape from Vietnam sure, but going back to the states, it's not this. Never has been."

"What is?"

"These past couple weeks - if I was back in the states, discharged all of it, it wouldn't be anything like this. I think back to how it was and it was all … I don't know." Complicated thoughts that were just beyond his reach as he tried to put them together. "But it wasn't what this whole thing pretends to be."

"What was it?"

"Stupid and …. desperate. This whole thing is not a care in the world. Feel good have fun and feel good doing it. And it's all a bunch of bullshit. I get back to the states and then what? I've got nowhere to go and no one who gives a damn. So its get a job and pay some bills…" Even the thought of that alone left a sour taste in his mouth.

"Stay. You belong with the team."

"Yeah." Face looked back at Murdock, letting him see the truth that was there, that Face knew it. "I know." There was no denying any of it- the life he'd had, what he was looking at going back, even the fact that when he had hopped a chopper ride out of Vietnam before he'd met Hannibal it had never been to the states. "I'll talk to Hannibal. Get the paperwork lined up."

Murdock looked at him, another one of those looks that went further and deeper than Face looked, and then he nodded. "No regrets?"

"No regrets."

XXXXX

Duffel bag thrown over his shoulder, Ray joined the rest of his team in the airport terminal. It was a feeling of sombre that rested over him. He'd spent their two weeks of R and R living a normal life. With his wife talking about all the things that they would do when he got back. The house they wanted to buy - not white, it was too impractical a color - but offset and in the country where they could work the land and raise their kids. They wanted five kids but Trish was worried that she'd have problems conceiving. She'd been a miracle child for her mother to have and those problems were genetic after all.

Ray could take a job at the local mill. It wasn't what he wanted, but it would be enough to support them until he could get their farm working. It was something to work towards. A future filled with smiles and love and tranquility.

It was a future that had flown back to Barlow Creek three hours ago.

His future may be with his wife and unborn children, but his right now was with the five men in front of him. This time they were all in their uniforms. Even Face and Cruiser.

Cruiser looked hung over, mostly because knowing him, he was. What was interesting was his lack of cuts and bruises. Usually time off for the medic ended with him practicing first aid on himself. For some reason Cruiser was under the impression he was seven feet tall and a one man army - just add tequila and watch grow. An army of one that loved to fight and against greater odds at that.

"Hey Cruiser, congratulations on a knock out free R and R."

Cruiser raised a brow in return, leaning back in his chair and letting his head rest against the wall. He looked like shit. Murdock, on the other hand, was grinning like usual. Both Murdock and Face looked like they had spent two weeks drinking, having sex and repeating until they were unconscious. They also looked like maybe, just maybe they had actually managed to sleep. Ray had no doubt about the former, and he hopped like hell the latter was true.

Murdock bounded over to Hannibal and dropped a hand on his shoulder. "Why Hannibal, our babies are growing up."

"I can end that knockout free streak anytime, Flyboy." Cruiser growled. But he didn't make a move to get up and his eyes were half closed. Maybe Face and Murdock had gotten some sleep and Cruiser hadn't.

"Junior is cranky. He gets that from your side of the family." Cruiser must have been exhausted, he knew better than to try and stop Murdock. You couldn't. Hell, even half beat to death Murdock would keep at something - just like a dog with a bone, Murdock never gave up. He either got bored or by some miracle you managed to redirect him.

Face let his bag fall to the floor, plopping on the chair and pulling the cherry down his cigarette. It was the first time in a long time - maybe ever that Face didn't look like he was running game, or planning to run game, or setting his sights on some unsuspecting woman.

Hannibal smiled at Murdock, hand clapping the pilot's back. "He's got all my best traits."

"And my worst. Poor child." Murdock would have kept at it, but BA chose that moment to stalk up and drop his duffel. Ignoring all logic and reason, Murdock launched himself at BA, making a jump, he wrapped both his arms and legs a round a growling, stunned BA. "Hiya big guy!" Murdock was grinning at BA like a skinny white guy hugging a large black man, in public was normal, everyday, ho hum. "Did ya miss me? Did you get me anything? Huh? Huh? Did ya?"

"Get off me sucker Or you'll get my knuckles upside your fool head!" It took him a moment but BA managed to get his oversized paws between him and Murdock and tried to shove the lanky pilot off of him.

Ray just smiled at the whole thing. "Hey, Cruiser you got some Valium you can give Murdock, calm him down a bit?"

"The whole US Army doesn't have enough benzos to calm his crazy down."

Murdock cocked his head towards Hannibal and pouted. "Bad news Hannibal, I think little BA here is hitting his rebellious phase. I blame rock and roll, it's the devil's music."

"I'm gonna rock and roll your head off your shoulders you don't get your fool self off me."

"Murdock," Face finally spoke up, "I think the man wants to be left alone."

"Why?" The way Murdock was looking at Face, so sincere and true with big wide brown eyes. Ray almost bought into it for a second, but no, this was Murdock. There was nothing he enjoyed more then setting people's world on its side. And judging by the open stares and frowns, he'd had some big fun here today.

"Alright guys, cool it." Hannibal cut in. He was smiling but there was only so much attention Hannibal would want to gain before they even made it onto the plane.

Ray looked down at his watch. Three minutes. They were slipping. There was no reason to inform them of that though. They had enough incentive as it was to up their game with pure young and dumb by itself.

"Yeah" Hopping off BA, Murdock agreed with Hannibal. That was suspicious. "We all wanna be on our best behavior for the special good bye treat."

All at one once, dubiously they all asked. "What surprise?"

"That one!" Almost dancing in place Murdock pointed to not one, but half a dozen women dressed in hula skirts and tops, swaying their way towards the team. Look at that, they even had a drummer to help them keep time. Grass skirts twitching and shaking even Ray had a hard time looking away as the girls surrounded them all. Dancing and telling a story without words.

He wasn't sure how long he had been watching when one of the women broke the ranks and dropped a lei of Kukui nuts around his neck, and then kiss his cheek. "This is for luck. Thank you and be safe." It was a calm and quiet voice. It was genuine and warm and suddenly Ray felt an urge to study his shoes while she repeated her good bye to each and everyone of them.

A few soft words from Murdock and the dancers were gone, retreating with the same sway and drumming that had announced their arrival. Ray had no idea how long he had been watching them, semi stunned when Murdock's oddly calm voice broke through the silence.

"I figured the least we should have was a decent goodbye."

Quiet looks that spoke of the heavy weight and responsibility that waited on the other side of the plane ride settled in on them. With a pat on Murdock's shoulder and a silent thanks, Ray made his way to the plane. It would be the last time he fly back in country and it would be with the best friends he would ever have.


	13. Chapter 13

Shoulders back, eyes forward, just like at West Point. Hannibal could do attention and parade rest in his sleep. And he may well have done just that a time or two. Except back then he was an eighteen year old rock head, too green, too arrogant, too stubborn to understand how, and more importantly why you had to play the game sometimes. The Army and its finest had done their job; they made Hannibal play along. Then Reins had shown him the value of keeping control, and how you could be in control even when someone else had the power. And that was the trick.

It was the last magic act - the one West Point had never taught him - that he used the most. Like now. Mifflin was his commander, he had all the power, and that was fine. Hannibal had control of his team.

His men. His team.

He'd been in charge of units before, he'd lost men, he'd had men succeed way beyond what he'd imagined, but this team was different. They were a collection of misfits, all of them living in the margins. Hannibal had trusted his gut and they hadn't disappointed. They were the best of the best. So good and unique that even the Army had carved out a special little niche for them. He would die for any of them and each and every one of them would do the same. They had served duty, honor, and country. And now it was time for Hannibal to do right by them.

Mifflin took his time, letting Hannibal wait. Just a little reminder that he was the man in the big chair. That was fine. After all Mifflin had sent for him, eventually he would get to the point. It was almost two minutes while Mifflin finished reading and signing paperwork before finally shuffling it into a nice stack on his desk.

"At ease, Lt. Colonel Smith."

He didn't even have to think about it, his body knew the drill; feet shoulder width apart, hands clasped behind his back, his voice barking in reply. "Sir, yes sir." It was as easy as breathing.

"It has come to my attention that Brenner has changed his status from indefinite and will be discharging in the next two weeks."

There was no question in that so Hannibal kept silent. Ray was going home. The man had gone through hell with them, if he wanted to spend his days on a farm and his nights in the arms of his women, then so be it. Ray had done his time, he'd earned his peace. Mifflin was just upset that he hadn't seen it coming. The man loved living in the details. It helped keep the whole ugly, big picture out of focus.

Hannibal had seen it coming. He knew Ray's loyalty was torn between his unit and his wife. Unlike Bunny, Trish had never pushed, never asked for more. And that's why Ray needed to give her more. One glance at the way Trish and Ray looked at each other in Hawaii and Hannibal knew his man needed to go home, and unlike most of them, Ray had a home.

Mifflin reached over to a different pile of folders on his desk and picked up the top folder, holding it out to Hannibal. "This is your team's next mission."

Hannibal took the folder without a word. It was too light to be much more than an outline. No doubt Reins would be back soon to give the true details to the few who needed to know. Mifflin was not one of them. Hannibal did a quick scan of the contents. Laos, local tribes, weapons. On the surface, pretty vanilla. Except Hannibal knew the tribal leaders name's, and the fact that they hated each other. There was a lot more, mostly not in the papers. Why all the maps of borders between Vietnam and Laos? Why so much detail on VC held ground? Simple. This mission was a cover. Great, the illegal mission into Laos was a cover for the real mission. Whatever it was it had to be a humdinger.

Folder in his hand, Hannibal resumed parade rest. Mifflin had more to say.

"This mission is currently at the top of the priority list. It needs to be handled with care. And it needs to be accomplished inside of the next two weeks." There was no waiver in his voice or the way his eyes were pinning Hannibal down and daring him to challenge the gravity of what he'd just outline.

The irony wasn't lost on Hannibal. The most dangerous thing Mifflin did was eat at the mess hall. He wouldn't last ten minutes in the jungle. A paper cut from that folder and Mifflin would demand a purple heart. Yet he was demanding that Ray go out on a high stakes mission before his discharge came because he could.

"Yes sir." And now to piss on the commander's Wheaties. "When the mission is over, Sergeant Peck will be going stateside." Hawaii had been an eye opener in more way than one. Face was short timing it, he'd done more than asked. Hannibal owed it to Face to get him to college alive and to give him a shot at a real life. It had required calling in some favors, but Face was going home. Hannibal had a meeting scheduled with Face after this so he could give him the good news.

"Sergeant Peck isn't due to discharge out for another six weeks."

"Yes sir. But given his unique service and the distinction which he has served with on missions, the General felt it was appropriate to get him stateside in time to start college."

Mifflin sat back in his chair, contemplating the fact that Hannibal had discussed this situation with General Reins already. Drumming his fingers on the table. Mifflin didn't want Face under his command. He'd made that clear weeks ago. "Make sure he keeps his nose clean between now and then or he'll be on the first flight out of here with a dishonorable discharge."

"Sir yes sir." Face had been walking that line with Mifflin for too long. It was part of the reason Hannibal had pulled some strings to get the kid sent home sooner and not later. Face had a shot at normal. A dishonorable would end that chance.

"You get back from this mission with Lt. Murphy you're short two men." Mifflin may not like the way Hannibal operated. But he damn sure liked the way Hannibal made him look on paper. "What is your plan to replace them?"

"I plan on pulling in any trained men based on the mission needs. In three months we'll be stateside for our rotation and the permanent replacements can be found and trained at that point. Sir." Hannibal didn't want to dwell on the details. Cold hard facts were finding the right fit for the team was beyond needle in a haystack. It was needle in a haystack while blindfolded, drunk, and in hostile territory. Oh and the haystack had a nasty habit of blowing up, sending flaming wreckage in a hundred foot radius.

Looking at what was on paper never gave you the full picture. He needed to meet the soldier, see how they operated when they thought no one was looking, see past the paper and to the man. Hannibal had no idea where or how he would find the replacements, but he was one hundred percent certain, he would know them when he saw them.

What he had to do was figure out how he was going to keep Murdock on the team. He wasn't due to rotate back to the states with them. With the demand for pilots in country, getting Murdock assigned stateside with them for six months might be beyond even General Reins. But with Face living the co-ed lifestyle, Murdock was going to need the team to fill in the missing spaces more than ever. It was one more thing Hannibal needed to figure out and make happen.

"Do us both a favor." Mifflin pushed himself up to his feet. "This time around, don't pick your team out of a line up." He didn't wait for Hannibal to reply. "Dismissed."

XXXXX

Hannibal looked at the pile of papers on his desk and sighed. It seemed like the Army believed war, or in this case 'conflicts' were about numbers and requisitions and paperwork. It wasn't. It was about people. The ones who wanted power and were killing to engage in wholesale slaughter, and the one's who tried to stop them. It was about death and dying, and trying to keep as many innocent people out of the line of fire while keeping his own men alive. There was a grim satisfaction when he thought about his team. Every last one of them did what he asked, without exception, with faith in his ability to lead them out alive. He was damn good at doing just that.

But he was also a realist. He couldn't be successful every time. Men died, and when they did, he was the one writing the letter home, destroying families and putting his failure on paper. He remembered every letter and every body he had sent West. The names held even as the faces faded into time. How they died - their last moment and breath - his to carry.

Hannibal had been lucky, it had been months since his last man had died. Glitch had been killed in his bed. He never had a chance to fight or to escape. Like his other lost men, Hannibal had packed up Glitch's things. The man's whole life boiling down to pretty much a guitar, some photos and, of all things, "On the Road" By Jack Kerouac. He never would have pegged Glitch as the deep type. Maybe that had been before his head injury. Maybe he would have been the next voice of his generation. He was just dust and memories now.

Debating on the merits of lighting his cigar, Hannibal picked up the papers at the top of his pile, smiling a little at the name. Sergeant Templeton Peck. Nothing in his file gave you the real picture. On paper he was nothing more than a bright kid, skating by on his looks and managing to find trouble by having more smarts than skills. On paper he was an orphan, a troublemaker, a thief, and a semi talented liar - let's face it, a truly talented liar wouldn't have any paperwork to back that fact up with.

It didn't tell you that he had more charisma than all of Hollywood, or that he was one of the toughest bastards Hannibal had come across. Under the California laid back looks and charm was pure steel. It also didn't say that if you did what you said, and gave him some trust, he would go to hell and back for you and never think twice.

With the right people beside him, Face had gone from running scared and stupid to someone Hannibal would have been proud to have as his second in command. But that wasn't going to happen. Face had wanted out of Vietnam since Hannibal had meet the kid. He had done more than his share. It was time for him to move on.

The sound of footsteps had Hannibal looking up even before there was a knock at the door. That would be the devil himself.

"Enter." He had just set the papers back on his desk as Face walked in. All smiles and still relaxed from his time in Hawaii, the kid looked like he had just stepped off the cover of a Beach Boys album.

"You wanted to see me?"

Funny, whether Face was in trouble or not, his greetings were always the same. He had a knack for being able to deny wrongdoings that the devil himself would envy. "I did." Hannibal gave in and pulled out his cigar. The thing was a work of art. He was going to have to start rationing them, no one but Face could get them and that meant his supply was about to dry up. Hannibal wasn't sure how Face got them, but he was certain that was for the best.

"Have a seat, kid." Cigar still in hand, Hannibal open the bottom drawer of his desk and pulled out his stash of cups and scotch. Pouring two fingers worth of the scotch in each mug, he nodded to Face. "And a drink." Hannibal smirked as Face looked at him curiously for a moment before taking a seat across the desk from him.

"Special occasion?" He swirled the amber liquid around the chipped cup.

"Very." Holding up his mug he gave a toast. "To a job well done." Hannibal took a sip, letting it burn a warm path before adding, "And new beginnings."

Picking up the paperwork he had just been looking at, Hannibal slid it across his desk. "These are for you. Congratulations." Leaning back, Hannibal watched Face reading over his pass to freedom and a real life as he rolled a mouth full of smoke over his tongue.

Face's brow furrowed, getting deeper as he flipped the page. "Wow... I..." He faltered, finally looking back up at Hannibal. "You got my discharge papers pushed through."

Grinning around his cigar Hannibal reached for his scotch. Face was going to make it. Him and Ray had a shot. BA was too full of anger and hurt. Most of the people back stateside wouldn't let a black man near their expensive machines, let alone give him the freedom and respect to create his mechanical miracles. Eventually, he would be forced to use his fists and end up in jail. Fact was BA was safer in Vietnam than his own country in a lot of ways.

And Murdock wasn't real stable on any piece of land for too long. But Hannibal couldn't risk Face for Murdock. He was unstable but the team had kept him going before Face and they would keep it up after Face was gone. Murdock needed to fly - further, higher, faster, and better than anyone. He would and could do just about anything to pull his team out of the fire. In the sky he was unstoppable. On the ground was a different story. Under all the smiles and jokes and songs, was an angry man doing everything he had to hold it together. Put him back home and try to get him to be 'normal' and it would end in disaster. Once, Hannibal had gotten a peek at Murdock when he let that anger take control - the world was safer with Murdock in Vietnam.

As for Cruiser. Man had very little and cared about even less. A sister, his unit, and not much else. He had no interest in leading a regular life. And he didn't give a fuck what anyone thought about it.

Hannibal would give each of his men what the needed, and Face needed this chance.

"I did. What you hold in your hands is a golden ticket. Use it wisely." It was said with as much reverence as he had ever held.

For a guy who had something to say about anything at a moments notice, Face was still sitting there in relative silence. "Yeah." He nodded, a chuckle finally coming from him. "That's great." His voice was a bit higher than normal, but he was raising his cup. "Cheers."

Hannibal drank with him. "Your freedom flight leaves in two weeks. I figure the team will put together one hell of a party for you." It was quick, but life was cheap and Hannibal didn't want Face being on of those tales told in basic about the guy who was hours from leaving when the bullet hit.

There was that laugh again, only this time he was running his hand back through his hair - just like he had in that jail cell when Hannibal had first offered him an out, sans the cigarette. "Right." He tossed the rest of the drink back, setting the cup on the desk as he pushed himself up from the chair. "I'll get right on that."

It was clear something was off. But given the circumstances, he wasn't too shocked by that. Still. Tapping the ash of his cigar, Hannibal stood up and came around his desk. Holding one hand out to Face, Hannibal clasped his shoulder with the other.

"It's been good working with you."

Face clasped his hand, pulling his eyes up to Hannibal's and holding them for a moment. "It has." A moment later he was turning on his heel towards the door.

He was almost to the door when Hannibal called out. "Face." It wasn't until he had turned around that Hannibal brought himself to attention and with the slow deliberate precision learned at West point, gave a textbook perfect salute. "Do us proud, kid." He could have said anything, but there was only so much Face would hear. Face's frown was back as Hannibal snapped off the salute but a split second later, a quick nod, and he was out the door.

XXXXX

Face sat there at the bar staring at the wall, not seeing it as he set down the beer and threw back yet another shot of Jack Daniel's. He didn't wait for the burn or savor the flavor or do anything but swallow it down and clench his jaw as he stared at that damn wall and tried not to feel.

How stupid had he been to think Hannibal would want him on his team? He'd overridden his better judgment. Let emotion talk him into feeling and planning and being fucking stupid enough to _want_ to be on Hannibal's team. To finally think that there was some sort of stupid fucking twisted up reason that he was on this God forsaken earth. That all those little fucking moments that had his gut twisting up like a dagger was being stuck in him, that had Face thinking he'd managed to land in a safe place, they were all bullshit.

Without wanting to Face was thinking about Hannibal stitching his hand up in the back of an abandoned building where he'd been hiding from the drug runners he'd had to skip out on. It was the first time in his stupid life he'd allowed himself to think that there might be a chance of trusting someone. This guy that had come out of nowhere and gotten him out of jail cell and managed to fix all of his problems. Just like that, in the snap of Hannibal's fingers Face had gone from cartel bitch playing on borrowed time to thinking there was some hope to the whole stupid thing.

And why? That moment and a thousand others – signing off on his water buffalo explanation, talking BA into getting him those transmitters so that he could pretend to be Vietnamese royalty. Hunting him and Murdock down in that village and bring them back. Face pulled his eyes off the wall, there were some places that he didn't go no matter what. This time he just took a hard pull off the damned bottle. He wasn't looking for moderation and there was nobody to pretend in front of. Even Murdock was off flying Mifflin around for his upper brass tour of all the good they were doing in this "conflict".

First chance Hannibal had gotten and he'd jumped to send Face back early. He hadn't even bothered asking if Face had any plans or thoughts or feelings on the subject. Because Face's feelings didn't matter. And that was fine. Face didn't need to feel shit. He'd learned a long time ago that it was easier when things didn't matter. Himself included. Somewhere along the line Face had broken his own rules and started to care. And he didn't even know where or when that had happened. And fuck him for allowing it. It was Mother Superior in front of the judge begging for them to haul him off to juvie all over again. It was then - deep into his fifth shot and beer that Face barely noticed the men who set down next to him. Until he heard a voice from the past.

"Oh now look who we have here, Chompers. It's none other than little old Facey boy."

Just that voice had Face's eyes narrowing on that wall and his teeth grating on edge. Corporal Dwyer, that jackass from his old unit, now serving out the remainder of his time in 'Nam directly under Mifflin and his half wit side kick Alfredo, aka Chompers.

"Awe, he looks all sad and lonely." Alfredo took the seat on the other side of Face.

Great.

Face took a deep breath and set his beer down. "Fuck. Off."

"What's wrong, Peck? You run out of fucking blow to sell, you worthless little shit?" Dwyer dropped his arm over Face's shoulder and in that second Face shoved himself up, hard enough to throw Dwyer's arm off of him and the corporal off balance. Suddenly they were nose to nose, glaring daggers between them as Face planted the palms of his hands on the man's chest, shoving him backwards - out of his space and away from him. But Face wasn't looking to leave. Dwyer wanted play his games, that was fine, Face was done backing down and finding a way to avoid the fight.

Dwyer charged towards Face, shoving him backwards. Face stumbled trying to catch himself but wound up falling against Chompers. Lucky for him, the guy was dumber than a box of rocks. Instead of punching Face, Chompers just shoved him, sending Face stumbling back towards Dwyer. Face growled deep and low in his throat, he wasn't pinballing between these fuckers anymore. Face barely managed to grab the bottle of Jack as he stumbled back towards Dwyer, swinging the bottle in a backhanded arch right at the oversized asshole's head.

Numb fingers and coordination dulled by the alcohol were the only reason Face had missed his mark. The bottle shattered against Dwyer's shoulder instead of the guy's rock head. Dwyer grunted with pain as glass shards gouged the his skin. Before Face could take a second swing at Dwyer, Chompers had moved. Two hundred and forty pounds of muscle was suddenly crushing him from behind in a bear hug and lifting him off the ground. A sharp, intense pain in his shoulder had Face yelling and back in the present. Fuck. Face remembered a half second too late why the hell they called that stupid shit 'Chompers'.

The son of a bitch had bit him.

He couldn't do shit about it, arms trapped in the bear hug. Face kicked out and forward as Dwyer came in close to him again, sending that motherfucker back a few feet. He tried to catch Chompers with his heal in a back kick, sending his head back, trying to hit Chompers whatever way he could to get out of the tight bearhug.

It didn't work. Booze slowed him down and weakened his strikes. Before he could break the hold he was on the ground, arms still trapped and the air rushing out of him. It was a bad fucking place to be in a fight. More so with Dwyer towering over him and getting ready to kick Face in the head.

Suddenly he was fourteen years old again and getting jumped by the white power KKK wanna be club for being Catholic. On the ground, against his will and not a damn thing he could do about it as they burned their race traitor mark into his skin with cigarettes. Kicking and flailing it was gut instinct snapping at the reality of a different time. The blind fury of a scared kid trapped inside a trained, drunken soldier, and suddenly he was out of that giant's hold, rolling away from the attack. The boot aimed for his head caught his thigh instead. Leg throbbing he kicked out with his other one, hitting anything he could as hard as he could. It wasn't pretty or well thought out but fucked if he was going to let _anyone_ fuck with him again. Fist still tightly wrapped around the neck of that broken bottle, Face shoved himself back up, launching himself at the guy still standing, still advancing on him, and swinging the broken glass. He would have hit the fucker with it too, but instead the wind was getting knocked from his lungs again. Spots flashed in front of his eyes, a lightening bolt of pain in the side of his head and then black. Leaving him all alone. Again.

XXXXX

"Hannibal, we got a problem." BA hated saying those words. He hated waking Hannibal up, he hated bringing bad news and most of all he hated when his rock head teammates tried to stupid themselves to death. This time it was Face.

"What's wrong BA?" Hannibal was immediately up, pulling on his boots. If BA hadn't seen it he never would've guessed the man had just been sleeping. BA had come to believe that Hannibal never really slept hard. Living and breathing the military life must of somehow left him able to exist on two minute catnaps. Flaking out was Hannibal's baseline normal and with this team it was a needed skill.

"Face got in a fight." Fool. Now BA had to say the part he didn't want too. Frowning, BA ignored that cowardly voice in his head. His Momma didn't raise a coward or fool. "It bad. He went at Dwyer with a broken bottle." BA didn't know what the hell Face had been thinkin'. They were all on thin ice, going after the commander's aid was an extra kind of stupid.

"He what?" It was a rarity to see Hannibal at a total loss. But that kind of stupid was hard to comprehend even when you had a full nights sleep under your belt. "He in the infirmary or the stockade?"

"Cruiser with 'em in the infirmary. He got cut up, got the stuffin' knocked out of him and he drunk and ramblin' 'bout all sorts of nonsense." None of it made sense. Sure Face and Murdock and Cruiser redefined stupid. Going after a group of twenty SEALs, taking on the VC, rebels, wild animals, sure. Cruiser thought he was bulletproof and Face and Murdock didn't care if they were or not. It was all in the moment for them. But still, they knew the lines and yeah they crossed them sometimes, but always for a reason and even then they knew how far across to go. But this time Face had gone too far. Something was really wrong. In the bad kinda way that had BA's stomach turning into knots.

Hannibal had his boots laced up and was grabbing his shirt, throwing it on as he walked towards the door. "You know where Mifflin and Reins are?" Hannibal was already ten moves ahead of the game and he didn't even know what court they were on.

The man was planning, BA knew better than to ask for an explanation. It could wait. "Still out. Hear they had Murdock fly 'em up to Saigon for some fool event. Ain't gonna be back till o'eight hundred.

"Damn that kid." Hannibal stopped in his tracks, the frustration clear as he looked at BA. "BA I need you to have Cruiser get Face to the tarmac. And if Mifflin turns up early, you stall him." He hesitated for just a fraction of a second. "No matter what it takes."

"He really going back to the states, Hannibal?"

"Well he is now whether he likes it or not." Hannibal wasn't happy about it. BA could hear it in the tone of his voice and rigid line that was forming along his jaw. "The only question is if I can get the paperwork straightened out in time to keep Mifflin from pulling his honorable discharge."

BA didn't question it. There wasn't time and it wasn't the place. Hannibal had to deal with the fall out and Hannibal knew how bad it was going to get. Nodding his head, BA headed out. Back to the infirmary, he had a job to do. Moving fast and silent across the camp BA found himself silently praying. Not just his usual 'keep all the fools safe' prayer. This time he added a prayer to not have to be the one to tell Murdock that Face was gone.


	14. Chapter 14

The smell of jet fuel was still hanging in the air and the deafening roar of twin turbine engines had barely begun to fade when Hannibal saw Mifflin in a full out run across the base. BA nudged him in the shoulder, letting Hannibal know that he was aware of the shit show coming their way. Mifflin was moving so fast he was sending up splatters of mud onto his normally pristine uniform.

Hannibal didn't need to be a psychic to know the man was an extra special shade of pissed. Join the club.

There was no sense in avoiding things. Instead of even entertaining the idea, he lit a cigar and waited. He needed the calming rush of smoke and nicotine to distract him away from all the anger and frustration of the situation. Face was gone, hopefully far enough out of Mifflin's reach so that it wouldn't be worth the Army's time to bring him back just to send him to the stockade. The irony in using one of Face's own forgeries to send the kid home wasn't lost on Hannibal. Hopefully it wouldn't land Hannibal at a court martial.

Mifflin was rapidly closing the gap, General Reins following behind him at a slower, calmer pace. Reins being there was just another helping of douche sauce on Hannibal's shit cake of a day. Committing felonies to get his bone headed, jackassed, dimwitted, emotionally stunted, genius of a sergeant out of trouble he'd created for no reason other then he couldn't use his big boy words was not what Hannibal considered his finest hour. It wasn't a moment he would have chosen to share with someone he respected as much as Reins.

There was nothing he could do about it now.

Cigar in his mouth Hannibal snapped off a salute to Reins and Mifflin

"Where the hell is Peck?" Mifflin demanded, one hand holding his hat on against the jet wash.

Firm smile on his face Hannibal pointed his cigar towards the rapidly disappearing plane, like maybe that was exactly where Face was supposed to be.

"The hell he is!" Spit was flying, Mifflin's face turning red and veins popping out on his forehead.

"Is there something you needed from him?" Choirboys couldn't have feigned innocence as well as Hannibal. "Maybe I could help, sir."

"He just put two of my guys in the hospital and now he's on a plane!" Mifflin ground out through clenched teeth. "I'm gonna have your bird for this shit, Smith!"

"Two of your men are in the infirmary?" Hannibal added a layer of surprise to his sincerity. Swear to God he should have been an actor. "I'm terribly sorry to hear that Commander." Mifflin was right on the edge, it wouldn't take much to push him clear over. A few more overly confident replies and Mifflin's head would explode.

Trying to piss your commander off to the point where he lost his mind and started swinging wasn't one of Hannibal's more elaborate or well thought out plans, but he didn't have much to work with at the moment. Given the fact that most of Hannibal's faculties were still trying to work out all the different levels of destructive idiocy Face had managed, functioning at all was an impressive feat.

Goddamn that kid. Why the hell hadn't he just said something?

"You goddamned..." Mifflin lost the ability to form words, unraveling to spitting and sputtering until finally he took a step back and clenched his fist, letting Hannibal see the punch coming a mile away.

Hannibal moved enough that Mifflin's blow glanced off him. Failing to land a solid punch had Mifflin charged Hannibal screaming, "I'm gonna make you pay!" Hannibal let Mifflin take him to the ground and grab the front of his fatigues, slamming his back further into the mud. "You wanna pull this shit for that pissant, I'll make damn sure you live to regret it!" Mifflin was a paper pusher, a noncombatant, not a fighter. Unless he actually pulled his sidearm, Hannibal wasn't worried about getting injured.

"Sir, you seem to be a little upset, sir."

Mifflin's answered by cracking his fist against Hannibal's temple. Anyone else and it might have been a problem. Commander Richard Mifflin though? Not so much

"Stand down Mifflin!" Reins barked out. "That's an order!"

The Commander wasn't listening though, he was too enraged and focused on trying and failing to choke the life out of Hannibal.

"Commander your form is getting better have been working out?" Hannibal had no issues with being assaulted and still witty. It was a gift. Mifflin had lost control, he may be on top but Hannibal had won this round.

Learning his weight in on Hannibal, Mifflin bared his teeth. "You are going to _rue_ the day we ever met, Smith."

"I will try my hardest to commence ruing, sir." Before Hannibal had a chance to continue the banter with even more irritating retorts, a shadow moved over them, blocking out the sun for a second. The brief eclipse was followed by a meaty _thud_ and in quick order, a _splat._ Mifflin was laying on his back in the mud, out cold. In his place was the ever angry and intimidating BA, looking more pissed than normal.

"He's stalled."

Maybe it was the lack of sleep or the last minute scrambling and stupid risk, or the sheer shock of having read Face so absolutely wrong. But for just a second Hannibal was pretty sure BA had made a joke. Hands in the mud, Hannibal pushed himself up, brow raising as he squinted against the rain. "Strong work, Sergeant."

Mud splattered as the MPs that had just put Face on the plane ran and grabbed BA. The bigger man didn't fight, letting them pull his arms behind his back and cuff him. One of the MP's looked over at Reins asking what they were supposed to do with Mifflin. It was a fair question, Mifflin had just disobeyed a direct order from a General and topped it off with assault.

"Get a medic to look him over." Reins strolled through the mayhem on the tarmac. "It seems we have some things to discuss, Lieutenant Colonel Smith."

"Yes sir!" Pulling himself up, Hannibal snapped off a real salute.

"Commander Mifflin will join us after he is cleared by medical." It sounded like a question, but it was an order. One that had the MP's almost dizzy with relief. They may have lost Peck, but they didn't have to arrest their commander. Not yet at least.

One nod from Reins had The MPs moving, dividing up between hauling BA off to the stockade and waiting for Cruiser to check out Mifflin. Hannibal needed a new cigar, his was lost in several inches of mud. Now that Face was gone he would have to be more careful with them. Hannibal glanced up at the sky and the clouds Face had disappeared into. As a rule Hannibal didn't pray. God and he had come to a silent understanding, but right now he really hoped the Catholics were right. Face had a lot of nuns praying for him, and Hannibal had a sinking feeling that Face was going to need all the novenas he could get.

XXXXX

" _I'll see you on the other side man."_

It had been the last thing Cruiser had said to Face before the MP's had hauled his drunken ass onto the Freedom Bird. It almost hadn't happened. Cruiser had spent an hour stitching Face up, listening to him ramble incoherently about random shit Cruiser didn't understand. But between concentrating on tying surgical knots, listening to Dwyer a few cots down, and trying to keep the MPs away from Face, he hadn't caught much of what had been going on. Cruiser had been on the verge of getting arrested himself, just to get him out of the MPs way, when BA had come stomping his way through the MASH tent with a stack of papers in hand that had the MPs grousing about the whole thing being bullshit.

Cruiser hadn't known what was going on, but he knew by the way BA hadn't been willing to look him that the MPs were right.

It had worked though.

Now, pulling down the cherry of his smoke as he inhaled the nicotine, he didn't bother opening his eyes or looking at BA as they flaked out in the team room. "Hannibal's risking a court marshal for this."

"We all are." BA had been arrested and released. Again.

"No we're not. Hannibal would never let it get that far." His voice was flat - tired from all the different aspects of all the emotional drama that he never bothered paying attention to rearing their ugly heads all at once. BA had been arrested, Cruiser had cleared Mifflin: fit for desk duty with a nice concussion, and Hannibal was having a heart to fucking heart with Reins and Mifflin. All within two hours of Murdock touching down. Flyboy hadn't even had a chance to wake up from crashing in the chopper and the entire world had managed to turn upside down.

But one thing was sure: Hannibal would not let them burn for this.

"I knew he die for us... but this." BA shook his head.

"Is fucking bullshit? Yeah, I got that part figured out."

"This gonna get worse."

"I don't know BA, if anyone can get out of this it's Hannibal. If not, we're all fucked." If Hannibal got the full wrath of Mifflin for this - and Cruiser didn't even know the extent of what "this" truly was, he'd be losing his rank, the team, and possibly even the military. And that left the rest of the team up in the air.

"Hannibal real good at getting out of a jamb." BA almost smiled, almost. Just like that the growl was back. "Even if he get out of this, someone still gotta tell Murdock."

"Hannibal's gonna tell Murdock." Cruiser had been the one to unknowingly deliver the telegraph about Murdock's grandparents being dead. He'd done his duty and then some with the delivery of bad news. Informing his CO that his man was dead, that there was nothing more he could do, that there was another letter getting written home - those were all things that fell on his shoulders. Telling Murdock that Face was on a plane headed back to the states was not. And even more importantly, it fell onto Hannibal's shoulders. That was all Cruiser needed to know in the end.

BA looked round, making sure no one was listening . Leaning closer he locked eyes on Cruiser, growling out low and slow. "Don't know what the fool's gonna do. Think we better be there."

Cruiser flinched internally at that. He did not enjoy the prospect of what was going to happen. "Man, I did not sign on to restrain my own fucking team." Shaking his head, he pulled the rest of the cigarette down and swung his legs over the side of the bunk. "Dude's gonna lose his shit in a big way."

"Least he knew Face was short timing. Still ain't gonna be pretty." BA looked like he wanted to rip off someones head.

"Right, so you're saying the stable one of the two handled it so well…"

"Face ain't stable, he just a real good liar."

'Cause that was helpful. Cruiser didn't say anything to it. There was nothing more either of them could do except wait for the fallout, know it was coming, and be ready for when it did. No matter what that entailed.

XXXXX

Humidity and dreams forced Murdock awake earlier than he wanted. Stifling a yawn he made his legs move up and out of the chopper. Two hours of sleep was nice, about forty more and he just might feel human again. Ever since he'd come back from R and R he'd been in the flight line. They were down three pilots, Purvis was injured, Whitey was KIA and Franks was MIA. That meant that if he wasn't sleeping Murdock was flying.

At least this light run had been fun. General Reins was one of the few in the upper brass who got it. He'd also been trained as a pilot. He wanted to see what a huey could do, so while Mifflin fought to keep his lunch down, Murdock got to show Reins a few things he'd learned. By the time they landed Murdock had no doubt Mifflin was regretting picking Murdock for his little jaunt.

Smiling at the memory of a green faced Mifflin puking his guts up out of the side of his chopper, Murdock said goodbye to his girl. One last quick look around confirmed everything the post flight check had shown. She had a few dings, but she was still fine. A pat on her nose and Murdock tucked his head against the rain and jammed his hands into his pockets. Missing most of the puddles, he managed good time across the compound.

He wanted a cigarette, coffee, food, and a shower. In that order, but first he needed to see what Face was up to. Ignoring his caffeine and nic fits, Murdock went to the team room. Shaking off the rain he grinned at BA, Cruiser, and Hannibal; they looked like shit and in need of a laugh. He could help with that.

"Good news. After exhaustive research and first hand knowledge I can now confirm Saigon is right where we left it. Imagine my relief."

Cruiser was sitting on the edge of his bunk, elbows on his knees, head hung with a cigarette between his fingers. "That's great." Turning his attention to Hannibal he asked, "What do we need to do, Colonel?"

Hannibal looked like he hadn't slept for a week. "For starters stay out of Mifflin's way." Cigar clenched between his teeth, Hannibal was in front of him. "Murdock we need to talk."

"Look Hannibal if this is about Mifflin getting airsick and tossing up his lunch all over the side of my chopper, I swear that wasn't my fault. That was just, you know, physics. Cause and effect and sure I may have laughed a little but come on, have you ever seen a man try to hang his head out of a chopper door to puke. I mean the wind shear alone... yeah not pretty."

Murdock wasn't sure what Hannibal was going to say, but he'd looked serious and really it was best to divert trouble. Hannibal let him finish, but something was off, like the colonel was reading him, biding time or something… waiting for a lull.

"It's not that Murdock." He hesitated for just a moment, that was bad. Hannibal never hesitated. Hannibal was always in the lead. "Face went at Dwyer and Mifflin's after his head. Now I got Face sent stateside and his discharge papers pushed through. But they're all Face's own forgeries and if we have any chance of keeping this from turning into a court martial, we've got to scrub the place of Face's entire larcenous enterprise."

"What discharge papers?" Murdock was asking the question before he'd even finished figuring out what Hannibal was saying. Why the hell would Face go after Dwyer? Sure they had been in the same unit, but Dwyer had tried to start shit before and Face never bit. It wasn't worth it.

"Face's. He was short and I had his discharge pushed up to two weeks to get him out. But Mifflin wants his head with this stunt. The only way to keep his honorable discharge was to forge the papers and get him on a plane before Mifflin got back from his tour with Reins."

Hannibal was talking, Murdock's brain freezing in one direction and the facts of what Hannibal was saying clicking into place in another. Murdock grabbed Hannibal by the shirt front, slamming his back against the plywood walls so hard it shook dirt and dust down on them. "You sent him back to the states? What the fuck were you thinking?" Murdock lost track of everything around him except Hannibal and the sicking residual hurt and rejection Face would refuse to feel.

Hannibal didn't grab him back and didn't fight Murdock's hold. But his eyes narrowed and his jaw tightened. "Check yourself Lieutenant. An honorable discharge beats jail any day of the week."

"He didn't want a discharge you jackass! He was going indefinite!" Murdock slammed Hannibal into the wall again. "He wanted to stay here, with the team, where he belongs! " His fist was moving. A distant part of Murdock was horrified, but most of him was trying to hurt the person who'd hurt Face. Just like everyone he hadn't been able to protect Lanie against. But Hannibal was quick and before he knew it, Murdock's feet were suddenly off the ground, his back was on the hard floor, and his wrist was getting bent back by Hannibal.

"Face has never wanted to be here and you know that. The day he pulled me out of that river he'd been running out of here and he never stopped."

"Do you really think he's the same fucking kid?" Murdock teeth were gritted against the pain and tingling sensation of his arm being this close to torn off. What the fuck did it matter if Face was gone? "Did you ever fucking think maybe all his running had led him to where he needed to be?" Fuck Hannibal for his arrogance and fuck Face for running right to ruin and fuck him. None of it mattered anymore. They were fucked.

"If Face wanted to stay here all he had to do was open his mouth. He's never been at a loss for words." Hannibal barked.

For an instant there was a nanometer of ease in Hannibal's grip, enough that Murdock was able to get a leg kicking out, hitting as hard as he could, grim satisfaction making him smile when his boot hit flesh and Hannibal was off balance for a split second. There was no thinking, he didn't need too. He let all the anger inside do the work. Hannibal was back to the ground, Murdock on top raining down blows at faces that weren't Hannibal. It was his Father and strangers in a long neglected alley and VC and every other face that haunted his dreams. "All you had to do was fucking ask, you arrogant fuck!"

"And all Face had to do was open his Goddamned mouth!"

Suddenly Murdock's leg was getting kicked out from beneath him and Hannibal was moving.

"Either way, he sealed his fate the moment he decided a bender and sending a few soldiers to the hospital was the way to solve whatever problem he had."

"Yeah fucking Face open up and spill his guts you, simple bastard." He was up and going right back after his target, hitting fist on what ever got in his way.. "You sealed his fate - you gave him up! Might as well put a gun in his mouth, you've goddamn killed him!"

Murdock could see it in his head, feel it in his gut. Face found a place, a home, he finally understood what he needed to do and Hannibal pushed him away. Face wouldn't understand, wouldn't see past the hurt, pain and past. Hannibal should have known, and he didn't and he didn't ask and now Face was lost. He was a dead man walking - just like Murdock.

Hannibal's elbow caught Murdock, sending him rolling onto his side in a tangled heap. Something inside him lept at the fight, wanting to crush the threat, wanting the pain out of him. Anger and violence, fists and kicks, his old friends. Murdock knew how to take that, how to use it. Blood was in his teeth, salty and coppery, familiar. It was warm and comforting.

It all came down to this, you didn't have to think or feel, all you had to do was swing and hit and crush until it all stopped. It was dark and right and satiated him in a way that had him smiling as he stood up and rushed Hannibal.

"Come on! Hit me again! Make me shut up, drown out the fucking truth, see how that works for you!" Murdock's sense of self preservation - ancient and honed over time- took over, attacking the threat on muscle memory, his body taking the shots and swinging blindly.

"You can't even tell what reality is let alone the goddamned truth!" Hannibal wasn't holding back. "Face wanted to stay all he had to do was say the word. From day one Vietnam has never been anything but a prison to him."

There was more blood, Hannibal's and his, and damned if it didn't feel good.

"You changed all that, good fucking work." He'd barely said the words when his head cracked to the side with the force of Hannibal's punch. The world went gray for just a second, then it blinked and bounced and snapped back into focus. It made him laugh, sickening and primal. This was a game he understood. "Go ahead, hit me again. I'll still be nuts and you'll still be dead fucking wrong."

"You fucking ungrateful shit. I gave up everything just to get him out of here with half a fucking chance at a life. Mifflin's gonna have my rank and pull the team - and that's just to keep him from pressing charges and going through the hassle of getting Face's discharge changed over to a dishonorable."

"Life?" Murdock laughed again, so hard he forgot to swing, so hard had tears rolling down his beat and bloody cheeks. "We're all fucking dead. You're commanding ghosts, you stupid fuck." Murdock's left fist slammed into Hannibal's gut.

Suddenly strong hands grabbed him from behind. Murdock fought them , even as BA's voice cut through the noise in his head. "Shut it fool 'fore I shut it for you."

Cruiser was pushing Hannibal back across the room. Hannibal was still pressing, trying to get at Murdock, shouting. "I'm the only shot you have at keeping those wings and you Goddamned know it."

"Their my fucking wings!" Murdock was halfway over top of BA, the fact that BA was big and strong as an ox didn't mean shit. "I earned those wings and I'll fucking die before _anyone_ takes them!" Murdock would kill before anyone took his wings

BA's shouting for Cruiser was background noise, secondary to getting to the thing that took Face and now wanted Murdock's wings.

Cruiser yelled at Hannibal. "You go at him again I'll knock your ass out."

Whatever Hannibal did or said had Cruiser shoving Hannibal against the wall. Hard. Making him stay there. Then Cruiser was leaving and Hannibal was clear for the taking. All Murdock had to do was crawl through the wall of stupid BA.

"Come on you fuck! Come and try to get my wings! You're a fucking pussy! A God damned lightweight! My drunk ass old man could go on a three day bender and still hit harder!" BA hadn't budged but Murdock wasn't about to give up. Stop fighting, stop moving and the vultures get you. Murdock learned that shit long ago. "Face might have had to hide and run and smoke fucking dope to keep from hurting, but I don't, I can fucking take it." Murdock's thumb hooked one of BA's eyes and he pushed hard, forcing BA off balance for just a second, long enough for Murdock to scramble out of his grip and at Hannibal.

Murdock was almost to Hannibal when suddenly his legs went out from under him and BA was fighting to get himself wrapped around Murdock's waist. Loud voices shouting at each other and sting in ass that he barely noticed. The gap between him and Hannibal was so small, but so hard to close. It was suddenly much hard to speak and Murocks limbs felt extra long and heavy, like they didn't belong to him.

He was still trying to claw and fight, but Murdock's body was giving up. Too heavy, to hard, head filling with tingling sparks. Darkness was winning, taking over and dragging him down. On the floor Murdock was looking up, the edges of his vision closing in, tunneling down to a pin point. Time was up, he was losing the fight. Something. He had to say something, it was important. The words got tripped up between his head and his tongue. His mouth was too dry, but words managed to escape. "You let go Hannibal and now we're lost." Blackness had closed over by the time he was done. Face was lost and so was he.

 


	15. Chapter fourteen

**Chapter Fourteen**

Cruiser let the door to the team room slam behind him as he came back inside, sucking the rest of his smoke down. A quick glance over at BA got him a small nod. Murdock was all good. Out cold on the cot BA had put him on. It had taken a while, but BA had assured and reassured Cruiser that he knew what to look for when it came to an overdose on the meds. Cruiser hadn't given Murdock enough to overdose him, but it was called the practice of medicine for a reason.

At least Murdock was finally getting some much needed sleep.

Hannibal was on the other side of the room, back from where ever he had gone while Cruiser and BA had straightened Murdock out. Cruiser walked over towards his kit. He was going to need it again. Glancing from Murdock's sleeping figure back over to BA, Cruiser asked. "All good?"

BA nodded his head. "Pulse sixty four and thirteen breaths."

That was all right where it should have been. He zipped up his pack, grabbing the handle as he spoke. "Peak effect is forty five minutes, so we should be in the clear if you want to get some air."

There wasn't a sound in reply. Instead BA gave Hannibal a long once over. Whatever the fuck it was BA saw was enough for him to nod at Cruiser and head to the door. He didn't leave right away though, no instead he stopped and fix the blanket they had thrown over Murdock. Once BA was satisfied Murdock wouldn't freeze to death in tropical Vietnam, he left the room,

Cruiser took his pack over to Hannibal, setting it down on the cot. "You done being a dick?"

"It's a lifelong affliction."

There was no fight in Hannibal's words and Cruiser gave him a slight nod, sitting down on the cot next to his bag. "I've got nothing to treat it except a hard right cross."

"That's an excellent treatment." Hannibal took a puff of smoke. "On days like this I'm glad as hell you're up to it.'

Cruiser shook his head, cursing under his breath. He wasn't up for it. Fighting the few people in this shithole that had earned their regard did nothing but leave a sour taste in his mouth. On some level, he'd hoped that Hannibal would simplify matters and still be up for swinging. Last man standing was based in the barest of simplicity. "How many times we gone rounds man?"

"One hundred and sixty two. Sixty three if you count the time in Thailand, but compared to our usual bouts that was more like choir practice."

"Yeah." Cruiser contemplated his cigarette for a long moment. Either Hannibal had actually been keeping track, he was making the number up, or Cruiser had been a lot more drunk a lot more often than he remembered. "And all those times I don't think I've wanted to take your head off as bad as today."

"That's because I was an extra special dick this time." Through the thin haze of smoke Hannibal caught his eye. That look alone was enough to let Cruiser know Hannibal wasn't bullshitting. "I lost control, and you guys had to clean up the damage. I'm sorry and I'll be good and god damned before I ever let it happen again."

Cruiser let out a deep breath. He hated these conversations. He would have much rather told Hannibal exactly how he felt about the whole damned thing with a few solid hooks. "You made it about yourself and that's…" shaking his head, Cruiser tried to sort through it all. "You've got my trust and respect but I've seen too much of that shit."

Hannibal looked narrowed down on him, sharper and more intent than before. "I didn't make it about me. I made it about him." Hannibal pointed his cigar at Murdock.

"The fuck you didn't make it about you."

Hannibal took a deep inhale and let the smoke waft around him, making him look the the dragon from that stupid story Katie had insisted on reading to him a million fucking times. By the time Hannibal started talking again he was looking at his cigar.

"A month after I met you, I got the honor of getting tagged by the CIA for a job. That's how I met him. Murdock was the pilot who'd been pegged with the same honor of being the CIA's patsy. Things went real bad, real quick. I ended up spending a few weeks with him in a little horror chamber that never officially existed. You learn a lot about a person; what makes them tick, what they really fear." Hannibal shook his head before looking at Cruiser again. "I used every damn thing I know about him just to get him to lose his shit."

"Because nobody was saying thank you and singing your praises for all the shit you did to get Face out and cover your tracks." It was just as pointed as Hannibal.

It was something that put Cruisers hackles up. He had vague recollections of his dad screaming at his mom for not appreciating all the sacrifices he was making. Moral outrage in the name of liquid courage. It was the same shit with his adoptive father, except it was well placed smile and a backhanded compliment laced with disappointment instead of alcohol.

"I wanted Murdock to hit me. I wanted him to shut up and knock it off, but Murdock doesn't quit. So I needed a reason to hit him back, and excuse to pound the shit out of him." Hannibal turned to face him, voice dropping. " I didn't give a fuck about thank you. All I wanted to was take him out."

Cruiser barely raised an indifferent brow through all of it. "Right. Because instead of saying thank you he told you'd fucked up. And that's where it became about you. Like it or not we can do this all day if you want."

"None of you owe me a thing. Everything you've got you earned. I had no right to say different. "

"No, you don't." It was point blank and there wasn't any leeway in that. Cruiser expected a lot from the men in charge. But they had taken that responsibility knowing full well what they were getting into. There was nothing Cruiser hated more than a sense of entitlement. If there was one thing that growing up in suburbia showed him it was how that sense of self tied to power and status were designed to corral the weak and spineless. And it had his back going up every damn time.

Hannibal nodded. "I was wrong. I fucked up. And like everything I do; I did it big."

Cruiser gave him a short nod, ending the conversation and accepting things for what they were. He reached over to his pack to unzip it. Murdock had gotten a few good blows in and Hannibal was going to be feeling it for the next couple of days. "You know working for the company is always a bad idea. How'd they sucker both of you?"

"We didn't get a choice, we got ordered".

Of course they were. Cruiser caught Hannibal's eyes for just a moment. There was nothing hidden on either side. The company, the history, everything that had played out today was ugly. But in the end, as he cleaned up Hannibal's wounds and got his suture kit, whatever tomorrow and even later today brought, they'd only get through because of those ugly pasts.

Say what you will, but they had been born in blood.

XXXXX

Front and center. That was exactly where Hannibal had wound up. Right in the heat of things with Reins. His biggest failure as a leader on display for his mentor and his commander's commander. When John Hannibal Smith went big, he went _big._ Reins' temporary quarters were on the other side of the base from the team's and across the way from Mifflin. The pelting rain that had been going on for the last week hadn't let up, and by the time he'd made it to Reins' he was soaking wet. Again.

"At ease." Reins was staring at him in exactly the same way Hannibal's old drill sergeant used to.

"Yes sir." At this point Hannibal didn't have the energy to work up the intensity that it normally should have had. Moving to parade rest without a second thought, he waited. Whatever Reins wanted, it would be the last and final act of this whole damn mess.

Reins moved around to the front of the desk, slow and deliberate and not stopping until he was inches from Hannibal's face. It was too close, an invasion of personal space, someone in power letting you know it. It was a tried and true tactic that Hannibal had used himself.

It didn't make it less intense. Not when it was Reins. Hannibal knew him too well and had seen some of the things Reins had done. The man was a legend for a damn good reason.

"Explain." One word said low and icy calm that carried all the weight of a B52.

Pulling his eyes into focus on Reins, Hannibal laid it all out. "I was doing right by my men, Sir." He didn't have to think about it. It was the truth and he'd do it again.

"Doing right by your men?" The cocked eyebrow was a bad sign. So was the way Reins' cheek twitched. "One of the biggest circle jerks I've ever had to shuck and jive my way through and all you have to say is it was all part of some big, kumbaya, hippy ass, love fest?"  
"Permission to speak freely, sir?"

"Speak freely?" Reins took a step back and leaned his hip against his desk. "Sure, why the fuck not? At this point it's not like you have much left to lose."

"I lead men. Into battle. Into hell. And if I'm lucky I get the chance to lead them back. And that takes trust. Simple and blind trust no matter what the odds staring them into the face are. Say what you will, but every one of the men on my team have earned their place. And Face - Sergeant Peck is probably the only one aside from Ray that has half a shot at a normal life. So I made sure he got it. Because that's what I do. And I didn't learn that from sitting behind a desk at West Point I learned it in the field from you."

"You're going to stand here and lecture me on fucking loyalty? I went to bat for you. I stuck my neck out on the chopping block. I let you pick Goddamned criminals, some of them right from the stockade for your team." Reins was bolt upright and back in Hannibal's face, growling, like a warning from a wild dog. "You and your men have pulled more bullshit stunts and scams and every damn time I stood up for them, because they were "your men". Because I _know_ what the fuck loyalty is and what the hell it means to have someone willing to die on your word. What you've forgotten is it's a two way street, Smith!"

Reins slammed his hand down on a file on his desk. "This mission is critical. That's why I gave it to you! It has to be done. You're the one fucking person I trusted with this! Where the fuck is the loyalty to the mission and the man who earned your loyalty in blood?"

It was a one two punch. Hannibal didn't respect his own father as much as respected Reins and the man knew it. "I…" He took a deep breath, wishing like hell it was laced with nicotine. "It was supposed to happen after the mission." Hannibal had misstepped. One detail he hadn't been aware of and it had set off a chain reaction like falling debris in a minefield of claymores.

"What was supposed to happen after the mission?"

"Face was supposed to leave after the mission." Hannibal ran his hand over his face, breaking parade rest, but really at this point he didn't have the energy for it. If Reins felt the need it could be one more thing to dress Hannibal down for.

"He was short but the kid is cracking. I saw it in Hawaii. He's never wanted to be here so I got his discharge moved up. But it still would have been after the mission. The only reason he's gone now is because he went on a bender." Reins would know about Dwyer and his buddy, Hannibal was sure of that, but there was no point in drawing more attention to Face's lapse of judgment you could fit the Grand Canyon into. "I had a chance to keep him out of the stockade and give him his shot at a life. After everything he's been through he's earned that much. And yes, it fucks the mission but tell me when the last time was that I failed? No matter what the resources, no matter what the cost?"

"Laos."

It was like a shot to the gut, leaving Hannibal speechless.

Reins leaned his weight on the desk again. There was no more threat in his voice, if anything, there was understanding. "You lost every person on your team John. There was nothing you could have done to stop that." Reins pulled out a pack of smokes. "Sometimes you can't save them."

Glancing away, Hannibal remembered their names. Sanders, Van Kilner, Wyaate, and Marshal. They were all good men and deserved far better than dying in an enemy shelling while trying to evacuate a village that was on no one's map. When he looked back at Reins there was determination to will the man to understand. "I had to try."

"I know you did son." Reins pushed himself up and dropped a hand on his shoulder. "You have to learn when to let go. You almost died in that Goddamned village." He tightened his fingers on Hannibal's shoulder for just a second and then he was moving again, lighting his cigarette and walking around his desk. "I almost lost you over this. We have an Army full of good men, but only a few gifted leaders. We need to keep them."

Nodding, Hannibal didn't say thing. There hadn't been a question. No, instead what there had been was the same understanding and hard learned guidance that had made Hannibal want to serve under Reins in the first place. Older and wiser, Reins would always have years of experience on him.

"The one good piece of news on this shit filled day is that Mifflin and I have come to an arrangement. You get the mission done and keep your men out of his sight until you rotate stateside in a few months, and I won't have him up on insubordination and failure to obey a lawful order charges." Reins took a deep drag of smoke. "You won't go after him for assault, Peck's shiny discharge will stand, and nobody seems to remember who knocked him out."

There was a weight that lifted off of Hannibal's chest that felt like an elephant had finally gotten a move on. A mission they could handle. Aside from Murdock, staying off of Mifflin's radar should be a piece of cake. "Understood."

"It better be." Once again Reins was steel hard and razor sharp. There was no doubt in how high the stakes were. Whatever he saw in Hannibal it must have been okay, because Reins let out a deep sigh and relaxed a little into his chair.

"Good. Now that that's done, have a seat son." Reins pulled two classes out of his bottom drawer and a bottle of his favorite whiskey. After pouring two generous fingers of the amber liquid into the glasses, Reins pushed one towards Hannibal. "You need this. You've had one hell of a day."

He didn't hesitate. Business was taken care of, whatever else Reins had to say was on the informal side of things. Leaning back on the chair, Hannibal took the glass, shaking his head at the whole thing. "Thanks for fixing this." Reins had made sure everything that Hannibal had put into place had come through in the end, before he'd heard Hannibal's side of the story. There was no repaying that. It was the kind of actions he expected from his team and the kind he'd learned from Reins in the beginning.

Reins took a sip. "Which one of them gave you the stitches?"

"Murdock." Hannibal took a deep, liberal, much needed drink of the scotch. "Seems I missed a few things when it came to Face." Hannibal let out a sigh, internally shaking his head at the stupidity of the whole damn thing. "I never saw it going so sideways. I swear these kids are gonna be the death of me."

"You never see it coming from the people who mean the most to you."

 


	16. Chapter 16

"You get Face's stash from the latrine?" BA asked Hannibal as tossed some more of Face's presigned forms onto the growing pile. It was a shame really, as bad as a stash of military forms, cigarettes, booze, and dirty magazines looked, Face had put it all to good use. Mostly. He knew his audience and what people would trade for what. Cigarettes and dirty magazines were just lonely soldier money, like cold hard cash. Here, in Vietnam, maybe they even held a better value.

Face had always been able to make anything appear. He'd take requests, but you'd pay. The team hadn't been without in a long time. Now it was going to be a whole lot harder to get what they needed done 'round here.

Getting it done and staying out of Mifflin's sight would be almost impossible.

It was all stupid. Face was a fool kid that was gonna wind up in over his head, and Hannibal had shown him just how at bat he'd go for him men, stupid or not. The payoff on that wasn't something you could spend. Hannibal's determination and dedication to making a bad decision better even while you was still in the crash and burn, reminded BA of his Momma from his momma. She had done that for him with Billy Norbet, made the bad not quite so horrible. It was still a hard lesson in reality, but it wasn't as bad as it could have been.

"Yeah. And in the empty hangar and the one in the chopper graveyard." Hannibal was pulling more carton of cigarettes from Face's mattress.

"Anyone get his stash of fake Rolexes? Not the ones in the supply tent, but the one he keep hidden in Nurse Lola's pillow?" BA didn't like Face using women like that, but nurse Lola liked that kinda thing. Girl wasn't right.

Hannibal's raised brow was enough to let him know that this particular stash was news. "The crazy one?"

"Yeah. She had a pillow made outta of Face's old fatigues. Told him it was for storing some of his stuff, but she sleep with it every night." All women loved Face, it was a fact, but Nurse Lola was way past liking and into making a shrine and consulting a witch doctor. Face's ego overrule common sense. He loved the attention and was completely unaware of the danger behind blond hair and a nice figure. A sudden, horrible thought hit him. "Man, somebody else better a told her 'bout Face." BA was growling again, too bad. He'd help his teammate, but he wasn't dealing with that kinda crazy.

"You know, it's just Rolexes, they might be lost to friendly fire at this point."

"She ain't given anything up 'bout Face." Hannibal was right. There was no way anyone was going peel something of Faces off her.

"Anywhere else you know of?"

"The mail-room, in the back where they keep extra canvas. The motor pool, in Peter's old locker, the mess hall in the broken coffee urn, the old latrine site, the towel bench in the ladies shower, under the floor of the men's shower and inside the spare tire of Mifflin's jeep." When it came to keeping his stash safe, Face was like a squirrel with his nuts.

"His jeep due for maintenance any time soon?" Hannibal pulled out what was left of a cigar from his shirt pocket and lit it up. "I can take care of the the rest, but messing with Mifflin's jeep is asking for trouble."

"That why Face do it, figure no one gonna look there." It was good thinking, if you was crazy stupid.

"Well he was right about the front half of that."

"Face ain't real good at thinking things through."

"That seems to be contagious these days." There was something that changed in Hannibal's demeanor. It soften somehow, going from in charge and cleaning up a mess to owning the mistakes that had been made. A commander didn't have time to be full of regret, but sometimes it was for others to move on. "Listen BA, I have fucked this up in more than one way and I'm sorry you're getting caught in the middle of it."

"You made a mistake, you human." It was cut and dry to BA. Things happened, and shit went down real bad. They were team though, so they would help each other up. Hannibal included. "We'll make it right."

Hannibal's gaze didn't waver, getting fierce and intense. "You have my word, BA."

BA nodded. He didn't bother with words that could mess things up. BA didn't need to hear the words, he knew it was true because he knew Hannibal. That's how he operated and that's why they all followed him through hell. "You ain't gotta do it solo."

Mamma had taught BA long ago that no one person could do it all alone. There was no shame in asking for help and no point in having too much pride to accept help. Hannibal sometimes forgot he needed help or a break, just like the rest of 'em.

"One of these days BA… I'm gonna have to meet your Momma."

XXXXX

Hannibal wasn't quite as he came up to the bunk that Murdock was in. It had been seven hours since Cruiser had drugged the pilot up and still hours since those drugs had given way to exhaustion and exhaustion had given way to Murdock. Hannibal had seen it before, the steadfast refusal to engage with reality. As though Murdock could make the whole world disappear until he was ready to deal with it on his own terms.

Those were the little insights and treats he'd learned about Murdock thanks to the CIA and their "intel".

Hannibal took a deep break as he sat down on the foot of the bed. Cruiser had checked in on Murdock an hour ago while Hannibal had watched, letting Murdock have his time. The fact that Cruiser had felt the need to administer a good old fashioned hand drop on Murdock was indication enough that Murdock wasn't really asleep. The fact that instead of letting his own hand fall onto his face, he'd classically failed the test by making sure his hand fell ever so conveniently to his side without whacking himself... well that just confirmed that the countdown to dealing with things was on.

Hannibal was more than happy to let his men take the time they needed to cope with everything they had going on out here. But sometimes they needed a kick in the pants. And this time, it came with a nice solid heartfelt apology from Hannibal.

"Murdock, it's time to join the waking world again."

He got nothing in return, not even a twitch. Not that Hannibal was surprised by that. With all the joking and laughing and crazy antics, most people never got anywhere near the real man, hell the real kid. Fact was Murdock was the most stubborn human being Hannibal had ever meet. That tenacity and bone deep determination had helped Murdock survive and thrive despite what would have crushed most. It also meant that Murdock would dig in like a tick on a dog just to avoid having to accept and deal with the fact he'd done the one thing that truly scared him: Lost control.

That was fine, Hannibal could talk while Murdock "slept". Sometimes it was easier than having an actual dialogue anyway. "First I need to apologize. I got Face his discharge papers because I thought it was what he wanted. I know now how wrong I was about that. Something it sounds like you were well aware of. I made a command decision without all the facts and it negatively affected my team. That's on me and I wish I had it to do over again."

For long quiet seconds there was nothing from Murdock. Hannibal was about to try another tactic when Murdock finally spoke. "Face should've said something. I should've said something. We all fucked up." Eyes still tightly shutting out reality, his voice was a dry whisper.

It was a relief to hear Murdock speaking. If for no other reason because it meant he was in a mind frame to hear what Hannibal was saying. "We did. And all we can do is try our best to clean up the pieces."

This time, he got a twist of lips from Murdock. "We're running out of pieces." Despite the attempt at a smile it was a sad statement.

Hannibal nodded to himself. There was a resonance in that statement that cut through to the core. "I know Murdock." His hand patted Murdock's lower leg, offering what little comfort he could in a team that was falling apart in a God forsaken piece of earth that was on fire in a world that was singing their way to change. "We've never given up before and I'm not about to start now."

"I lost control." Murdock's hands clenched tight around the blanket, drawing it up towards his chin, making him look even younger than he was. "Do I need to turn in my wings?"

It was like a knife getting turned in Hannibal's gut. The hollow pain and childlike strained voice from a boy that couldn't even open his eyes to face the reality the answer might bring him. Murdock's wings didn't just mean everything to him, they were him. The last time they had talked Hannibal had told Murdock in the times that he couldn't see it, he needed to trust the team. That was what he was doing now. On Hannibal's word, Murdock was willing to give up the one thing that made him sane and kept him on kilter. "No Lieutenant, you don't."

Murdock sagged back into the mattress and opened his eyes, some of the tension and crushing weight leaving him room to breath a little. "I don't, or I didn't, I..." Murdock stopped, catching himself, like he was trying to force the thoughts into order. "I'm sorry Hannibal, it all got fucked up and I made it worse, and I don't know how to fix it or how to help Face."

"Right now it's one thing at a time." Hannibal let out his own exhausted sigh. Trying to help Face was a problem he had yet to triage out. "Reins has agreed to keep Mifflin from screwing up Face's honorable discharge. In turn we stay out of his way until we rotate back stateside."

"I'm not due to rotate back."

"You're on my team kid, let me worry about that."

Murdock nodded, looking at his hands as he fiddled with his blanket, but just like that he was staring at Hannibal, eyes open, but looking through him. Hannibal knew what he was seeing, the little hell Murdock's Dad had made. "You're nothing like him."

Verbally and physically abusive? Hannibal knew bits and pieces of the horrors that Murdock's father had put him through. The memories hidden deep in the recesses of Murdock's mind that had only come out in a time of agony. "Thanks Murdock. I hope you're right about that."

"Unless you start putting cigarettes out on my chest, you won't even come close." Murdock tossed the covers back and swung his legs over the side of the cot. "How did BA and Cruiser take it?"

"Pretty much how you would expect." Hannibal was watching him closely as the pieces came back together and Murdock embraced the world again. "I'm sorry I used your father to make you lose control like that. It wont happen again."

All the distance and lost look in Murdock's eyes disappeared. Inside the space of seconds, Murdock had resolidified. More than that, he was watching Hannibal like he was a trick of the light. Hannibal almost smiled. It was like watching the village kids when they saw BA for the first time. He didn't say anything, giving Murdock the time and space he needed.

"You mean that." It wasn't a question, it was a shocked statement and judging by how soft and low they were, Hannibal wasn't sure he was supposed to hear them. Something that was close to a smile gave the barest tug at corner of Murdock's lips. Nodding his head a little, Murdock patted his pocket, looking for his smokes. "Okay." Murdock had accepted it, just like that. "Tell you what, I'll do my damnedest to never act like him again.".

"Deal, Lieutenant." Hannibal stood up, holding his hand out to Murdock, sealing a foundation to stage the future on, Hannibal pulled him in for hardy embrace. At first Murdock just stood there like he wasn't sure what to do, but then the lanky kid from backwater Texas, sagged into Hannibal, wrapping him in a tight embrace like his life depended on it.. "We'll get through this, son."

XXXXX

Nine days since Face had left. Sitting on an old crate outside the TOC Murdock took a deep drag of his smoke and held it in for a few seconds. The steady flow of nicotine helped quiet the little girl's crying. It was only in his head, just a memory. He knew that, but if he thought about it too long he wound up elbow deep in blood and hate and Face wasn't here to guide him back anymore. Murdock needed a diversion and smoking gave him something to do and something to focus on, and right now it also helped ease the tension of learning just what the big mission was this time.

General Reins himself had briefed Hannibal last week and then headed back to Washington. Leaving Hannibal to prep the team, or what was left of it. In typical Hannibal fashion, he went above and beyond. Rules were clear, this was need to know only, and technically none of them needed to know all the details. All they needed to know was what their part was. Hannibal, however, was willing to risk his job by making sure every one of his team was on the same page. He wouldn't share it with the Montagnards or others, but Hannibal wasn't going to ask his A-Team for an unknown, even though it was the "rules".

Hannibal hadn't lied; it as big. No, scratch that. A POW snatch was huge. Big enough to have the brass types antsy. The United States had never managed a successful clandestine liberation of POW's in the entire time the military had been in South East Asia. To add to the tension it was in Laos. That was a place they officially didn't fight in and this wasn't just any old prisoner, it was a General's Mitchel's nephew. It was the sort of thing that mattered to grunts. Anyone of them could be a POW, and everyone of them knew what Charlie was capable of. It was also the sort of thing that would make careers and have political chips stacking up, to be used at a later date.

It also had Murdock's gut twisting and the hairs on the back of his neck standing up. Part of him hoped it was all in his head. Swear to God, Murdock was pretty sure his mind was like just about everything else in Vietnam and hell bent on killing him. One look at BA's tight scowl and Cruiser's raised eyebrows and Murdock knew it wasn't just him. The rest of the team felt it too.

It was mad mojo or juju or vibes or whatever the hell else you called it. It meant they were screwed. Not that it mattered much. Hannibal was on the hook, he'd been tapped by Washington to go in and do the impossible. They would follow him. He would lead and they would train and plan and try like hell and follow him. The SEAL team would do the same. Football games, cards, racism; it all took a back seat to the fact they were all soldiers. No matter what, they would do as they were ordered to do, the only way they knew how, one hundred percent.

Crushing his kicked cigarette under his heel, Murdock lit another one. Damn it he missed Face. Not just because everything was calmer when Face was around. They shared demons and there was no denying the fact that they fought for safe and sane better together. This went beyond that. Right now, Murdock was missing the information. Out of all the goods Face hustled, it was his information that was the most valuable. In a place like Vietnam knowing who was lying and who was telling the truth was a life or death skill. No one had a better sense of that than Face. It was a gift and a survival skill that had saved all of their lives several times over.

If you asked Face about it he would smile like it was no big deal. Murdock knew better. Nothing made Face bigger and slicker than getting something the people who mattered to him needed. Like a cat he would drop his kill and strut away like he didn't care, all while gleaming with pride.

For all of his layers and quirks and personalities that he wore like clothes, Face was easy to understand. It was finding the real man behind the mask that was the trick. Hiding away how much he needed people was how Face, wounded and scarred, had made it through life. Wanting and hiding, were things Murdock knew all too well. Man, once Face had seen that he had all of that and more with the team, he came to life, as real of a life as any of them could have.

Just like that it was all gone.

Thinking about that had his skin itching and his head ringing. He needed to get up and do something, anything. Letting his legs do the work Murdock headed up and out, only mildly surprised when he found himself at his chopper. The team was fractured and Face was broken, and there was nothing Murdock could do about any of it. Running his hand over the warm metal of his chopper, Murdock focused on the checklist he knew by heart and ignored the ache.


	17. Chapter 17

"Right, are we done?" Face asked the Staff Sergeant that had been interviewing him. He'd been there for over a week and he still wasn't free. So much for land of the free. It was an unamused wave of the guy's hand that finally released Face from more bullshit paperwork. He didn't wait an extra second to get out of there.

Lighting up a cigarette as he walked, Face kept his focus on only a few things. He was almost free of this mess. The military could fuck off. Hannibal, in his infinite wisdom of knowing exactly what was right for Face had somehow enrolled him in USC, and there was a tree near enough to the fence at the back of the base he could use to get over to the other side of and off of military property.

It didn't take long. Jamison had shown him a few days back and it had probably saved Face's sanity. Glancing around the area to make sure nobody was around to see him, Face jumped up and grabbed the branch, pulling himself up the tree and across the limb so that he could drop down on the other side of the fence. It wasn't a far drop and it was only a few feet until there was cover. He couldn't help but scope out the nearest cover or the best line of attack and it made him feel jittery and on edge for no real reason. Something that Face hadn't ever thought he'd miss, but every time he wound up in an open field he couldn't help but feel the hair on the back of his arms stand up and miss the feel of solid metal where his weapons should have been.

That was another nice touch. Face hadn't known what the hell had gotten boxed up and shipped his way, but it was SOP for the discharge personnel to go through everything and make sure military weapons stayed military property as they sadly resigned you from their list of inventory. It had taken some work, especially when he didn't have much of anything to work with, but in the end, Face had managed to hang on to a handgun. A 1911 he'd won of a kid from Des Moines in a card game. He'd hid the gun in a bus locker off base to be retrieved the second he was out of this pit.

Crouching down, Face shoved the bushes around until he found the plastic garbage bag he'd stashed there a few days ago. His mouth was watering for the harsh burn of gin already. Finally settling in with his back against the tree, Face opened the bottle up and drank as much as he could tolerate before the burn caught up with him.

What the hell? Hannibal discharges him out of Vietnam, dropping him like a bad habit and then he's enrolled Face in college? Did Hannibal even know him? Stupid question. If the fuck knew him at all, Face wouldn't be here. Maybe he wouldn't have ever made the team to start. Face cut those thoughts off. It didn't fucking matter anymore. Hannibal did what he wanted and everyone towed the fucking line. Fucking hypocrite. In the end, after all the speeches and blood and sweat and hard learned lessons, the only thing mattered was Hannibal's plan. Nothing else was worth the time and energy spent to sort it all out. Nope.

Fuck that.

All Face had to do was get through the last of his military career bullshit and slam book on this part of his life closed. Once and for all. Get out and get away from here and be done with it.

Pulling a joint out of the cigarette case, Face rolled it between his fingers. The deep warmth of the alcohol was way too slowly seeping through him. Not enough to dull the edges, not by a long shot, but enough to let him box up all of the fucked up shit in his head away and blaze up the joint. His hands were shaking with want as he pulled a long, deep drag into his lungs, holding it there letting the burn and the urge to cough pass. The dirty earthy taste, the sting of unfiltered smoke, the smell; it was all part of what he needed. Face held it in as long as he could, unhappy with having to let it go, but ready for the next hit.

He didn't fucking care. Face had survived before he'd met Smith and he could do it again. Fuck it. Face had some booze and some herb, he didn't need Hannibal and his bullshit team and brotherhood crap. All that sort of shit did was get you thinking you owed somebody. It was a way to trick you into believing you should risk your life for some made up purpose. He'd been an idiot to buy into that shit. But that was done. He didn't need it and more importantly, he knew what the fuck it was.

Taking another deep, beautiful toke, Face tossed his lighter back in the bag. See that was it. _That_ was the key. It was listening to your gut. He'd learned that in the orphanage and Vietnam had driven it home. Trust that feeling. He'd known being part of "the Team" was too good to be true. He should have listened, but no, Face broke his own Goddamned rules and started to believe the lies. That was something he was over now. Grabbing the bottle he gave a little salute: To Lieutenant Colonel John Hannibal Smith; a better liar than me.

So what? Face had booze and weed and soon enough he'd have a nice, warm, soft woman to get lost in. Those were the things he wanted and needed now. Things that made him feel good and not think. Things that turned off his mind and made the twisted pretzel shaped nightmares go away. Fine. He liked feeling good in the right here right now. The past was fucked and the future was a joke. Him and Murdock had figured that out long ago.

Even with a nice buzz going, Face could feel his chest tighten. Bullshit. He wasn't going there. He wasn't fighting his way through the past. He was going to get fucking high enough to stay right in the present and let the world fade to the sidelines and so he could finally fucking breath again.

Why the hell couldn't people just let him be? Even when he was young it was the same shit. How many fucking times had Mother Superior busted him for sneaking off? What the hell was so wrong with wanting to watch the sunrise over the Pacific, alone? All he'd wanted to do was get away from it all and relax with his feet in the sand. And it had bought him endless lines and Hail fucking Mary's. Fucking penguin. Just like Hannibal. Acting like they knew Face, pretending to give a shit. Yeah, until it was too fucking inconvenient, until he was too much work. Assholes. At least this time he was sent to LA and not to Western Outreach Home for Youth. Fancy name for the damned kiddie prison Sister sent him to.

_We love and care for Templeton, but we cannot control him. His actions are increasingly risky. I fear for his safety and the safety of the other children. At this time, I am forced to concede that Sacred Heart Orphanage is not currently the appropriate placement for Templeton._

Face had been sentenced to six months at the youth home. He'd been a skinny kid, in no way, shape, or form prepared for what you learned in a place like that. It was a training ground for kids who beat, stole, and destroyed. Hopeless and headed for fifteen to life, they didn't have anything to lose.

He shouldn't have been there.

He wasn't like them. All Face had done was shoplift some booze and go for a joyride in a stolen car a few times. That didn't come close to what kids like Fat Eddie and Crazy Bill did. He... no, fuck that. He wasn't supposed to be thinking about this shit! The buzz wasn't doing its Goddamned job.

Face turned his attention back to the joint, determined to get to that warm, distant place where stupid shit like his past didn't matter. With vicious precision, he finished the joint and downed a few more long swallows of gin. It was just a damn tease. He needed more, he needed better. There had to be someone who could get him some nice fat sticky buds. Fuck given a little time he could grow his own. But why bother? This was California, home of the free love, sex, drugs and rock and roll revolution, right? There was bound to be some good shit out there somewhere.

Taking one last pull from the bottle, Face put the cap back on and tossed everything back into the trash bag. Yeah he was feeling it a little now. He could fucking stroll out of here and back to his bunk and sleep. Fuck Hannibal and the nuns and the team and the youth camp and Vietnam. Face had a plan of his own. Hannibal got him all set for college and really now, was there a better place for free love and drugs? Who knows maybe he could even find himself a nice, rich co-ed. Hands in his pocket Face headed back to the barracks with a new and better future being built in his head.

XXXXX

Sweat rolling down his forehead and blood dripping off his fingertips, Murdock tried like hell to reason with his injured baby. Sometimes choppers, like women, could be finicky, more so if you flew them into a trap and got them all shot up. Sure, she had a reason to be pissy, but right now Murdock had to work his magic because quitting wasn't an option. Not just because quitting in this case would entail plummeting out of the air and forming a Huey shaped crater in the earth ala Wile E. Coyote. No, right now quitting couldn't happen because the men in his chopper were hurt and dying and they needed him to get them to base. It was their only hope.

Ignoring the sting of sweat in his eyes and the burn of the shrapnel in his arm, Murdock made the call to Covey for the all clear to land. Damn it. They'd all been right, the mission was screwed from the start. All the intel was crap. There were no POW's. There was an ambush just waiting for the team to walk into. If it hadn't been for Hannibal and Spider, no one would have made it out. As it was, it was only pure luck that had Murdock picking up the coded blast of S.O.S. on the frequency Hannibal always used.

Murdock had left the base in Thailand with his tail numbers covered, gotta love CIA bullshit, and found the team under heavy fire in deep jungle. Using the main rotor like a buzz saw, Murdock had managed to get to the team. Or what was left of them. He'd watched in silence as they'd run and stumbled through the elephant grass, taking fire and bleeding. There wasn't enough people in the chopper when he got the go signal. They'd lost men. Not Hannibal, Cruiser, or BA, but others. Only one of the Montagnards made it back, and Spider hadn't. BA had been carrying Trace over his shoulder, the big guy was covered in blood. Most of the blood seemed to be from Trace's missing leg. Damn it. No one else was going to die. No one else in his damn chopper was going home in a bag. Not while he was in charge.

Taking her low, Murdock called to Covey again. If they didn't answer quick he wasn't going to need permission to land, he was going to crash. He was out of time. There was no fuel left and most of the instruments and tools he needed to fly his chopper were shot, lost, or damaged. He needed the base. He had to make the landing pad where doctors and medicine and equipment were. Come on baby girl, I know you're hurtin' but I need you to make the last push. We've gotta get to base. Through the static in his headset came the cleared to land call. It was angel song and the sight of the landing pad was the most beautiful thing he'd ever seen.

Thumbing his mike on, Murdock called out, "Hang on! This is gonna be quick and dirty!" He wasn't wrong. His girl stalled inches from the ground and dropped them hard, it was the least he deserved. He wanted to shout for joy. They'd made it to base!

It wasn't until the dust had cleared and he'd made sure nothing was going to blow up or catch fire or otherwise kill them all, that he noticed no one was scrambling out of the chopper. What the hell? They were at base, they need the corpsmen and doctors, They should be running and getting the injured to the help they needed. Nobody was moving. Oh hell no! Murdock hadn't broken the laws of physics and lost a few of his lives for everyone to sit around and bleed out in his damn chopper.

Bullshit!

Murdock was out of his seat and running, staying low, just in case the wind kicked up and the rotors pitched downwards. It wasn't until he was at the open side door that he stopped dead.

Jarvis had one hand on his weapon and Trace's head in his lap. "No! No one leaves! This is fucking bullshit!" Jarvis was yelling at Cruiser. "He's not fucking dead! Do your job, Stone!" Trace, was too still, there was too much blood, covering Cruiser and BA and pooling at Jarvis's feet. "He's not dead!"

"The fuck he isn't. You think I'm wrong, find a fucking pulse." Cruiser was holding his hands halfway up, still on his knees in the chopper where he'd been working on the Montagnard.

"No!' Murdock barely recognized the shout as his own. "No! We made it to base God damn it!" Throwing his helmet to the ground, Murdock was in the chopper, reaching for Trace. This was not happening. Trace wasn't gonna die in his buddies arms. "You ain't dying! No way!" Before Murdock could to get his hands on Trace and convince him he was still alive, Cruiser grabbed his wrists and shoved him back.

"Guy's fucking dead. Leave it alone."

"No! We got _here!"_ Murdock's eyes locked with Cruiser. He had to get Cruiser to understand. "We made it to base! Nobody else is gonna lose a friend. We made it back!"

Cruiser wasn't having any of it. He just sat there shaking his head, eyes not wavering in the least. There was no give, no glimmer of hope, no matter how hard Murdock had searched. He was too late. All they'd risked, everything he had done and it wasn't enough.

Suddenly everything was locking down, tightening, drowning the world out, so much so he had to force the words out of his dry throat. "I went as fast as I could."

"The guy got his leg blown off." Cruiser's voice was oddly quiet. "He's got a pneumothorax and probably internal bleeding. There was never a fast enough."

Never a fast enough. Oh shit. Tears, were sliding down Murdock's cheeks and dropping to the deck, mixing with the blood. Making it to base hadn't mattered for Trace. None of it had mattered. More men dead, more waste, more pain, more nightmares and nothing he could do about any of it and nothing would ever be able to explain that or make it go away. Jarvis was a racist bastard, but he was a damn good soldier and he was one of them. He'd signed up and done the job just like the rest of them, not for glory, but for each other. And nothing any of them did could save Trace or Spider or every other kid who'd cried and bled and died in the back of his chopper.

Cruiser's hands still locked around his wrist, Murdock turned his eyes to Jarvis. The gun was still pointed at them, but it barely registered. "I'm sorry." Cruiser's grip eased up on Murdock's wrists, a hand going to the side of his head, letting Murdock know that it was all done.

Closing his eyes just for a second, he blocked out everything but the feel of Cruiser's hand. It was real, Murdock needed to focus. "We all tried." Murdock opened his eyes when he said it and looked at Cruiser first and then BA, then Jarvis and Hannibal. All of them had tried, all of them were grieving, none of them were alone. Down to the last man. Jarvis looked up at Murdock, tears running in rivers down his muddy and bloody face and slowly lowering his gun. Hannibal was right there, moving faster than Murdock could follow.

"BA will make sure Trace is taken care of, I promise." Hannibal's voice was rock solid, assured and soothing in the chaos. "Let's get you to medical." Jarvis took one long last look at his best friend in the world and then turned back to Hannibal and nodded. Not a yes nod, but an understanding, respect, acknowledgment. It was done, the crisis of the moment over and Hannibal was leading the walking wounded to the MASH tent.

Cruiser dropped his hand and Murdock turned, sitting down in the open door of his baby. He was sore and tired and he'd need to be ready to do it all again. But not now. Right now he was watching the men move. Either walking away or being helped. Murdock was going to have to wash the blood out of his chopper. Again. Fuck. He'd made it to base.

Cruiser sat down on edge of the Huey next to him, watching as the base MASH unit swarmed the team. "Your arm's fucked up."

Tic, tic, little droplets of red from his arm splashed in the dirt. They were all bleeding, just some of the blood you couldn't see. That sounded crazy, he knew that. He was crazy and getting crazier. Shit. Murdock was going to answer Cruiser, he really was. But the world was flipping sideways and his vision was turning black at the edges. He knew he was going to pass out. Too little sleep too much blood loss and adrenaline and heart ache. Too much all at once. The last thing Murdock remembered thinking was how much he missed Face.

Face would understand.

XXXXX

Cruiser's stomach finally recoiled on him. The tension and knots all tied up with adrenaline and forced control until they hit each other like a riptide and sent a wave of nausea crashing through him strong enough to double him over. On his hands and knees in the dirt, Cruiser's fingers dug deeper into the mud and rocks as his eyes watered and the stomach acid burned his throat. Mouth watering against the bile, he clamped his eyes closed.

It was too much. They'd been fucked from the very beginning. Face had always been good at getting his hands on his own intel. _Real_ intel that had never made it to the books. The team hadn't had a false step into enemy territory in almost a year because of him and now? First mission out and it had all been a double cross from the beginning. There had never been any POWs to snatch. It had been an ambush from the beginning. After the grenade had gone off and the firefight had started there hadn't been anything Cruiser could do to save the Montagnard brothers. Shrapnel had torn them through and through, ribbons of flesh and organs strews across the Elephant Grass, shouting and screaming for help from the others. He'd saved two. BA had hauled Trace out of there for three miles in the jungle. It was two hours of stop and go firefights. Hushed voices, muffled screams as Cruiser had buried his hand in Trace's leg to try to tie off his femoral artery. It had bought them time and that was all he had.

Out of morphine shots and out of time, the _whomp! whomp! whomp!_ of Murdock's chopper and the deafening way it what chopped through the canopy of the forest to get to them was the sweetest thing Cruiser had ever heard. They had barely managed to get everyone on board, Murdock hanging in there even after the gunfire had erupted again. Cruiser's work hadn't ended with a narrow escape. No, Trace was bleeding out, the clamp on the artery only doing so much good. But when your entire leg was blown open like a fish that had been gutted, there was no amount of tourniquets and clamps that could keep you from bleeding out on the jungle floor.

BA had carried that guy on his back for two fucking hours to have him die five minutes away from the goddamned mash tent. Cruiser's hands buried in his leg, not being able to work fast enough. Goddamned mother fucker had died despite it all.

And there hadn't been a damned thing Cruiser could do to stop it. Except move on and deal with the Montagnard. A sucking chest wound from some shrapnel that had managed to puncture the guy's lung. Another thing that Cruiser could only do so much to treat. An occlusive dressing to let the air out and not in and some pain medication. At least he had a chance. He had still been alive when they had landed. When Jarvis had pulled his gun and when Murdock was busy screaming at a corpse.

Cruiser was still covered in too much blood that didn't belong to him and tissue that had sloughed off. It was all too much. Now on his hands and knees in the mud, there were no more places to direct the adrenaline and the urge to survive in the midst of death and chaos. What was left was simply that; left overs. Cruiser gave himself a moment, breath heavy in his ears, pounding heartbeat in his chest, he spit the bile and saliva out again.

Out of nowhere there was a set of combat boots and a hand out next to him. It took Cruiser a second, but when he finally managed to follow the muddy fatigues Cruiser found himself looking up at Hannibal. Giving just a fraction of a nod, Cruiser concentrated on breathing. Deep breath in, hold it, slowly exhale, and repeat; settle his nerves down. He knew the drill, he'd been through it before. It was just another day in Vietnam. Just another fucked up day. Finally he reached up, taking Hannibal's hand and pulled himself to his feet.

Hannibal's free hand clamped down on Cruiser's shoulder, holding Cruiser up for a moment while he got his feet under him again. Fuck him. Eyes still bleary, he blinked them clear letting Hannibal move him over to some tires that had been cast off somewhere along the lines. He didn't think. Didn't need to and before he knew it, he had a lit cigarette in his hand and was pulling in the nicotine like a lifeline that his frayed nerves were clawing to get back at. That calm hitting his lungs in the form of hot smoke and rushing through him, like a strong current guiding him down the stream of fucked up beyond all belief back into the land of the living. "What's the score?"

Rolling his cigar in his mouth, Hannibal crossed his arms. "Three Montagnards, Spider, Trace, and the confirmed death of all of the men we went looking for."

Of course. When they'd finally found the last known whereabouts of the POWs it hadn't taken a lot to figure it out. It was a chopper crash from three weeks ago. Whatever had been left of the crew had been easy to pick off from the ground. Spider and Hannibal had gone in to get the dog tags though. Confirm death and have an answer to send the families. And it had all gone to shit. "They were waiting for us."

"Yup, it was a set up from jump." Taking a puff of his cigar, Hannibal looked at the smoke for a moment. "How are the others doing?"

"Rengao took some shrapnel to the lung." Cruiser spent most of his time on the ground trying to patch him up. Finally he'd had to dope the kid up enough to make him stop struggling so he could get the shirt off and see the extent of what he'd been dealing with. In the end it was an old trick that had maybe saved his life. Wrapping saran wrap around his whole chest, recreating that vacuum the lungs needed to work. It meant it trapped air inside the chest cavity too, but a catheter stabbed into the whole mess created a one way valve that he could control. "He'll need surgery, but he's got a chance. Otherwise it's just your walking wounded. Murdock's arm probably took the worse of it. He'll need surgery."

From the way Hannibal's eyes narrowed, Cruiser knew Murdock's injury was news to Hannibal. "How bad?"

"I don't know. Not critical. He's in surgery right now. We'll know more in a few hours but it could go either way." If it was bad Murdock would get shipped out to Japan or stateside for further surgeries and rehab. If not, it would just ground him until he could fly again. Either way Murdock was fucked. Taking another inhale of hot nicotine, Cruiser let it all wash over him. There wasn't anything he could do about it. The Montagnard kid had a chance and that's all he could take away from the whole miserable thing. The rest were dead and gone. Nameless faces to add to the pile. There were hundreds of them now. The guy that took a bullet through the throat and drowned on his own blood. Cruiser had been fucked that time too. Even if he'd managed to stop the bleeding from the carotid arteries, that meant no blood would be getting to the guy's brain. So instead he'd gotten to helplessly watch as the guy had bled out, spitting and spluttering blood, fighting for air he couldn't get, eyes wide with the fear of impending death. His grip on Cruiser's fatigues getting weaker by the second, until he was nothing more than a corpse on Cruiser's lap.

No. Cruiser didn't think about him or any of the others. He couldn't. Instead he focused on the feeling of the cigarette between his lips and the taste of nicotine, and the feel of the hot muggy air. And shut the rest down. "What's next man? Team's thrashed."

"We take care of what's left of us and we go from there." Hannibal wasn't done. "You did good." Hand on the back of shoulder, Hannibal gave him a firm squeeze. "Thanks."

XXXXX

Life was good. Face had made it to LA to become Joe College and everything was falling into place. He'd met Duncan on his first day of class and had been crashing at his place ever since, with a few other guys until he got his own place lined up. Duncan Wentworth III was one of the privileged few; parents with too much money, a trust fund, and the promise of running the family business as soon as he got his degree. The guy had a three bedroom rental house just off campus and so far it had been nothing but loud music, cold beer, bags of weed and girls. Face smiled to himself, all safe and warm in the relaxing aftermath of some primo hash. That was something else Duncan had turned Face on to. Weed was nice, but hash upped the buzz. The guy knew how to get high enough to fly. Yeah, there was something to be said for college life after all.

Walking in a group with Duncan and a few others Face made his way across campus. He was on his way to the registrar's office to drop his Philosophy class. Eight am was just too early for stateside living. Face grinned at that. Hell yeah, college had way better hours then the Army. Besides the class was a real downer. All these rich kids wanting to discuss the meaning of life. Stupid. The point of life was to relax and have fun. Light up, toke up, and chill out.

Things could work out at school, he just needed less class time and more high time. It was either that or he found someplace else to grow roots for a bit. Not that he really cared where he landed, but right now, for the moment, the group he was in with were just as good as anyone else.

Heading up the steps, everyone was laughing and Face couldn't quite figure out why. But that was what made the weed great anyway. It didn't matter why it was funny, just that it was and that made him laugh and feel good.

And they really did have a good hookup on the bud.

Still buzzing high, his foot got caught on the step. Not able to catch himself he half stumbled into Chris and Chris into Thomas and Thomas into others until they were all weaving and bobbing, trying to catch each other and not fall. Face mostly failed at staying upright. his fingers made contact with the steps before he pushed himself back up to his feet. Special forces, hell yeah. Face was laughing, hand grabbing out and catching a fistful of jacket as his buddy almost fell backwards. Face couldn't keep the stupid smile off his lips. "Gotta watch it man."

"Dude." Chris wasn't that bright sober and he was amusingly idiotic when high. Face was about to tell him that when he turned and bam, walked right into a girl who swear to God hadn't been there before.

The girl knelt down on the steps in the midst of all of them trying to gather her books and not get stepped on. Face watched her for just a fraction longer than he should have. Full length skirt, long brown hair held back with a headband, and a very nice and proper button up blouse. Kneeling down, he reached over for her statistics book. "Let me give you a hand."

"Oh, I'm so sorry! I didn't even see you." She paused in her attempts to gather her papers and books to look at him, eyes wide with concern. "Are you okay?"

He couldn't help but smile. She was really worried that she'd hurt him. Nodding his head just a fraction, his hair fell into his eyes. "I think I'll survive." He picked up one of her books, not quite handing to over to her, seeing what she would do when invited closer. She had a good mix of texts. Statistics, English Composition, and wouldn't you know it, Theology of Creation. "That's quite the course load."

"I know, but there's just so many interesting things to learn about." She was all but glowing with excitement at the idea of learning. She glanced at him, then the book he still held before carefully taking it. "Every time I go to class I just can't wait to find something new."

"You know you don't have to go to class for that experience." Reaching over he grabbed the last of her books, Wuthering Heights. Flipping the cover over to her, he held up the period piece heroic male and damsel in distress. "Lots of new experiences to learn about?"

"That's a love story. Romance always shows you something new." Her cheeks flushed and her eyes dropped to the cement like she was embarrassed. "I mean, well you know that's what people say."

Face couldn't help but watch her more closely. It fit the entire entourage. Something about the innocence of it all had him smiling lazily at her. Genuinely too. There didn't seem to be a worldly or jaded bone in her body. "What do they say about what people do?"

She looked up at him. Not coy, not with artifice, but with open interest. "Well I don't know. I've never met people who "do"."

His eyes didn't leave hers. He was watching her with more interest than he really should have been but he couldn't help it. There was something so distinctly novice about her that he felt almost drawn to her. "Doing is always more fun."

Picking up the last of her books and clutching it to her chest, she didn't meet his look, not at first. Just when he was sure he'd lost her interest, her chin shot up and she was looking at him with something close to wonder. "How?"

His smile brightened, reaching his eyes at the unadulterated fascination with the idea of experience. That's what it was all about anyway, right? Finding the experience that made the world pleasant. Between the Valium the hash, and now this beautiful young lady, how could he not feel good? "What's your name?"

A deep flush spread across her cheeks. "Oh! I forgot my manners! My name's Leslie Becktall." She held out her free hand for towards Face.

He took it, resting his other arm on his knee. "Tem. Peck." Brushing his thumb along the back of her hand just a bit, he was pleasantly surprised with the way her breath caught in her chest and made her gasp just the slightest. "It's a pleasure to meet you Leslie Becktall."

Voice still airy, she forced herself to respond. "It's been very fun meeting you." She was done. There was no reason or need to linger, but she was using the time to watch him and think.

"How would you like to share the experience of coffee?" He knew what her answer would be. But if Leslie Becktall was as inexperienced as first impressions had lead him to believe, she needed an invitation, not an expectation. She'd had too many of those already.

In the midst of staring at him, trying to figure him out, she froze, stunned and silent. A second later she recovered, lighting up the world with the prettiest smile anyone had ever given him. "I think that sounds nice."


	18. Chapter 18

BA pulled back his upper lip and let out a low snarl. It was a warning; he was the predator and his prey was in more trouble than they knew. He waited; calm and patient until they made their move, darting out towards him. Muscles bunching without thought, just memory, he sprang, pouncing, swooping the intruders up and over his head with a victorious growl.

It was drowned out by squeals and laughter from the children around him. BA gave up playing the tough guy and chuckled along with them. Setting the boy down, BA was promptly overrun by several more village children. All laughing and looking at him with open wonder and curiosity. They had no problem staring and asking questions and begging for candy and money and to play. Going to local villages on goodwill missions was BA's favorite job.

Today's mission was pretty straight forward. Spend some time with the locals and vaccinate the kids. The last part was Cruiser's job. Dude was borderline antisocial if you listened to his jive, but get him near a kid and he was like a saint. Cruiser was as tough and hardcore as the rest of them, but he had to believe he didn't care. If the man admitted to caring then he'd have to deal with all they'd seen and done. He couldn't. Hell no sane person could. So he walked around fighting anything bigger and badder than him and getting his knocked off. BA let him and backed him up when needed. They were team and Cruiser, even though he would deny it till he died, was one of the good ones.

A tug on his sleeve brought him back to reality. One of the little girls was asking him a question. She didn't speak English and his interpreter was working with Cruiser and the village elder to get the okay to vaccinate the children. BA let his smile do the talking. If Murdock was here, he could've talked to her, the fool spoke Vietnamese like a native. That was a secret. Last thing any of them wanted was the CIA taking him out for their own games. But when they did these friendly visits, Murdock was always the first one to yell: "Oh, oh, pick me!" Made sense cause he had a lot in common with eight year olds. Even after what ever happened in that village with Murdock and Face, he still all but skipped his way off to see the locals.

At least he had.

When Face left, Murdock had changed. No. That was a lie. It wasn't a change it was the hidden parts of Murdock poking out through the holes in his cover. On the outside he was mister happy. Always up for fun and a good time. But it was too much, it had a desperate edge to it. Like his life depended on staying up because the down was too bad, too ugly to let loose. Thing was Murdock was one of the angriest men he'd ever met. BA had grown up in some of the baddest parts of Chicago, he'd learned the art of street survival before he learned to tie his shoes. He knew a dangerous man when he saw one. Murdock was one. More so because the scrawny bastard worked so hard at keeping it all caged up. Now that Face was gone it was getting harder and harder for Murdock to hold the bits together.

Before Murdock got shot, he at least had flying. In fact, it was about all he did. He would smoke and drink gallons of coffee and fly every second he could and then some. He was still having nightmares that had him waking up screaming, but he would have a place to go think about something else. BA was pretty certain that's why Murdock was such a good pilot. It took every ounce of concentration and skill to fly a chopper. It took everything the dude had, including the crazy bits, to keep the flying metal coffin in the air. It was the only place he didn't have to work on being normal. And now, when he needed that break more than ever, it was gone. Every second he wasn't flying had him wound tighter and edgier. There was more nightmares, more flinches, and twitches, and laughter at nothing. If he didn't find something fast, he was going to explode.

BA spotted Cruiser walking back over to him with their translator and the Elder by his side. It was almost odd to see Cruiser relaxed, but right down to the open fatigue shirt, he was more at ease than BA usually ever saw him at base. A three year old being carried over his shoulder like a sack of potatoes, he didn't make it much further before a young girl in a tattered dress ran over to him and grabbed his leg like it was the greatest ride she'd ever been on. Cruiser just flipped the boy off of his shoulder, carrying him like a forgotten basketball instead as he trudged the rest of the way over to BA with children attached to him like barnacles on a ship. "I see you're hard at work."

"You get the okay?" Usually it was Face and Murdock that did the talking. The thing was the local villages operated old school. Like a couple hundred years old. These cats still worried about evil spirits and after centuries of getting caught in the middle of bigger wars, they'd learn not to trust. Face had the gift. The yellow hair and angel face combined with open and honest expression and puppy eyes from Murdock usually beat down any defense the elders had. This time it was all up to Cruiser and an interpreter they'd never met before.

"Yeah, we're all set." Whether he was aware of it or not, Cruiser's hand was on top of the little girls head as she grabbed at his belt and tried to climb up him. "Those chocolate bars you packed seemed to do the trick." Suddenly she was up in his arm, making a swipe at the little boy still dangling like a tree ornament.

"Everyone loves chocolate." BA made sure not to crack a smile as he watched the girl. She was a fighter. Good. In a place like this you needed some fire. "Where we gonna set up?"

Cruiser just chuckled, shaking his head and bobbing the girl up and down so she couldn't tug on the boy's hair. "Next to the elder's hut. They're setting it up now." He looked from the boy to the girl and back to BA. "I think I've got my first two victims."

"You stab em and I grab em?" It was a tried and true system. Cruiser would move fast, most of the kids would have the vaccines before they ever saw the needle. Dude had a way with kids, a way he was lacking with grown ups. As soon as he was done BA would step in, give a bandage, a candy bar, sometimes a hug and get them back to playing, almost before the pain of the shot registered.

Cruiser just nodded, turning quickly, causing the kids' heads to spin and started off in the direction of the elder's hut.

It was quick work, in no time they were done, left to spend a few hours being swarmed by kids who were determined to treat them like a jungle gym. It was a good day. All out of candy and change, BA and Cruiser headed back to the jeep. "When we gotta come back and check on em'?"

"Tomorrow, next day at the latest." Cruiser gave him a shrug. He wasn't worried about their systems having a bad reaction to the vaccines, but BA already knew that. If he had been he wouldn't have given the vaccines. "I need to put a cast on one of the little boys arm's. Seems gravity and trees have the same relationship no matter where you are on the globe."

"Trees are magnets for kids." No more than two days meant BA had to find some more candy. Without Face around that was harder to do and it was gonna cost a lot more. Murdock would know who to talk to, but finding him would be hard. Man was like a ghost, haunting and being haunted all at once. Maybe Hannibal would be able to help.

XXXXX

It was total darkness; deep, thick darkness. Smothering and heavy. No stars, no distant city lights, no bustle. Just him and the labored sound of his breathing. And the fear that he wasn't alone.

Something was in the dark with him.

He could sense it; the fine hairs on the back of his neck standing up as he felt the whisper of air brush against him as something slid past. No! He spun.

Where the hell was he? There was nothing but total darkness.

Something rattled behind him. Attack! Never let the unknown have your back. Stupid.

Danger!

Skin prickling with fear and adrenaline, ready to fight. His body jerked back. He couldn't move. Heart slamming against his chest, trying to push back against the swell of panic, he tried harder. He had to get out; leave, run, fight. Something.

Forget fighting.

Something in him knew this place and it had his blood turning to ice as he felt the ties around his wrists and something hard and solid under him. It was dejavu, but wrong. No. No, no, no. He needed out! Like a wounded animal in a trap, he pulled till he bled, skin tearing, muscles strained, broken bones were nothing compared to the monster in the dark.

Deep breath. This couldn't be real. It couldn't. Blinking against the darkness just to make sure his eyes were really open, he fought harder. Eyes open; dark. Eyes closed; dark. Eyes open; screaming bright light beating him back and making him cringe.

The world flashed and dipped and reformed...oh God. No, no, no. Not again.

Ivan.

Face screamed. Blood curdling and raw.

" _Relax. You're all alone. No one will hear or care about your screams. It's just you and me and them."_

Jerking his head away from the too gentle, too real voice, Face's eyes unwittingly followed Ivan's. _Them._ Snakes. Coiled and hissing, ready to destroy. Too terrified to scream, Face felt the ropes at his wrists slither. Cold fear trapping any noise inside him. Two large serpents, looked at him , uncaring as they slipped into the corners of his vision. He wasn't in a room with Ivan anymore. Before he could take a breath of relief he heard that Goddamned laugh.

No. Not here. Not her...not them.

No!

The air was gone from his lungs. It couldn't be. Panic hit him dead in the chest, threatening to knock him over. He was in a mud hut, filled with cackling and laughter from the devil himself. It was echoing off the walls. Egging him on.

Pleading eyes of a little girl, her mother's lifeless body, her sister's screams. No! He was screaming, trying to run, trying to get away. Not again. He couldn't do this! Thunder echoing around him, drowning out his racing heart, but not the cries. The serpents were rising up out of the mud and tears.

" _Do it, Face!"_

" _Don't be a fucking pussy!"_

Run! He needed to run. But he was rooted to the spot. Snakes around his boots, wrapping tighter and stronger. Keeping him trapped in hell. Watching in horror as the girls' eyes became a flat, matte black and their cheeks sank in, their olive skin decomposing.

The hissing became louder, deafening and thunderous. It was all around him, like it was inside of him like a living, breathing disease taking over. Mixed with the laughing. Hissing and braying laughing. _Laughing_. Face raked his fingers over his eyes and ears, trying to drown it all out and make it go away.

"Stop! Please stop! I'm so sorry!" He couldn't hear his shouts over the snakes and cackling. It drowned out his words.

None of what he said or did mattered.

The serpents arched up like an angry cobras, only they weren't. They were all black and brown and smooth and shiny like nothing he'd ever seen before. It wasn't over. He froze. Staring. Watching in a horrified trance.

Snakes twisting and wrapping around a pair of hands until they were limp and hanging there. No longer living and squirming. No longer snakes. Instead, bits of human flesh and bowel.

Face forced his eyes up to find Murdock's horror struck face, covered in blood that wasn't his. The spoils of a slaughter at the hands of a madman around them. The blood and guts and snakes draped through Murdock's fingers sprung to life again. Face could see it in the edges of his vision. He couldn't look away from Murdock.

Not even when the snakes multiplied, tens becoming hundreds and thousands until they were surrounded and the world was black serpents wrapping around them. Face could feel them circling up him, getting tighter around him until all that was left was his eyes, slowly becoming crushed under them; becoming one of them.

A scream that sounded like God was tearing out a soul from a living body had Face slamming upright, launching himself sideways and rolling until his back hit a wall.

He was on solid ground, the scream was him. The dim white walls of Diz's place coming into focus. UCLA. School. It came back in a rush that had him letting out a shaky breath and sagging into the floor. Sheets tangled around him from the bed, the energy rushing out of his muscles, leaving him limp on the floor. Looking up he saw the bong and a bottle of pills on the dresser.

Oh thank God.

XXXXX

Hannibal took a long pull from his cigar. It was one of the last ones from his good stash that Face had stockpiled for him. It had taken Hannibal a month and a half to burn through them. In the grand scheme of things six weeks wasn't that long. But in Vietnam, it was a life time. They'd barely survived a failed mission and Murdock had gotten through surgery to fix his arm. But he was grounded until it healed and that could take months. The more time that passed the more obvious it became that Murdock was not surviving anymore. Thinner and more gaunt were just a few of the more noticeable problems. The nightmares that had been waking the team were just one more small clue as to how poorly the pilot was coping.

Murdock was up before any of them and bedded down after them. Mostly so his screams wouldn't wake them. He couldn't fly. He was the walking wounded. Up till this point Hannibal had kept his distance, letting Murdock deal with the loss of Face and being grounded the way he wanted. But things were settling down. Mifflin was leaving them alone, Cruiser and BA had stayed busy and out of Mifflin's sight, and their stateside rotation was coming up. Hannibal needed to know for certain where things sat with Murdock. However, first, he had to find him. Looking up at the shipping container Hannibal grabbed the ladder rung and started up it. Face and Murdock had never made keeping track of them easy. When it came down to it, that was one of things he had enjoyed the most about those two.

Lo and behold, there he was, lying flat on his back with a smoke between his lips as he looked up at the sky and watched a chopper from C Company heading out for points unknown. Hannibal made sure to make enough noise walking over to his pilot to be noticed and sat down next to him. "Lieutenant."

Murdock didn't bother with things like getting up or looking at him. Eyes still fixed to the sky he used his good arm to point his cigarette at the chopper. "She's flying heavy." Hannibal had been around enough to know that meant loaded with people. "How do you think she'll come back?"

"Lighter." It was just a fact. C Company was going out for a demolition of a bridge deep in enemy territory. They would take heavy fire for the greater good of the cause. It was war and this was a general's war. Men in suits back in the safety of the states making life and death decision for the boys on foreign soil to be lost to. His duty as a commanding officer weighed heavily with that responsibility.

Murdock's head slowly rolled to the side, stopping when he was looking at Hannibal. "Even when they come back empty, they're still heavy."

"It's a weight we all carry." The guilt of having survived one more day when your brother hadn't. They all carried those ghosts.

"They clipped my wings Hannibal, till I get them back, I got nothing to carry anymore." He was smiling, but not. It was a parody of a smile. More like what someone who had never seen a smile thought it should look like.

"That weight never goes away. Just the ability to prevent it from drowning us." Hannibal didn't press it further, watching Murdock closely, seeing how he would take it.

"Oh I ain't gonna drown, Hannibal." Murdock took a deep drag smile still hanging on. "I'm floating. All I have to do is just sit back and let it happen."

"What are you floating on?"

"I don't know. It all keeps getting further away." He was back to looking at the sky like he was waiting for something.

"Are you going to know when it gets too far away?" Hannibal knew Murdock. He did. Right now he needed to know if Murdock could tell how far gone he was. If he had any idea of when it was too late or if he was going to need Hannibal to make that call for him. If Hannibal had to he would, but he dreaded that day in a way that shook him to the core.

"You ever dream about them? The ones you couldn't save?' Eyes on the sky, hidden behind his aviators, Murdock's voice was calm. Too calm for the manic behind them.

"Sometimes." It was a fact he didn't like to dwell on. Most of the time he was so exhausted by the time he wound up hitting his rack that he slept dead through. But every once in a while the dreams crept in anyway.

"I dream about them all the time. Ones I knew, ones I didn't. Trace and a little girl and people without names and bits." Murdock took one last, long, deep, drag and flicked the butt away. "I even wrote Face about it."

That surprised Hannibal. It shouldn't have, but it did anyway. "You hear back?"

"No. Face is dead. Dead people can't write." Murdock was looking at him, his weird little smile gone.

It was not often that Hannibal found himself at a loss for words. "Face is . . . ."

"I got it wrong, didn't I?" Murdock sat up, pulling his knees to his chest and dropping his head on them for a second. "I dreamt about Face and Trace last night. We all had a long talk about a rematch in football." Murdock lifted his head up, arms still draped over his knees, the little smile sad and distant. "But I wasn't dreaming Hannibal, I was wide awake and talking to ghosts."

"That's a problem, Murdock." He hated saying it, but Murdock had earned the truth.

"It's okay Hannibal." With sudden, sharp, Marine precision Murdock stood up and snapped to attention. "Lieutenant Murdock, HM, regrets to inform you he is no longer safe to fly. Permission to seek personal leave."

Hannibal pushed himself up. Slow and deliberate; meeting the military form with his own commanding one. "Explain your plans for personal leave, Lieutenant."

"I'm going to seek out Sergeant Peck and find my wings again. Sir."

Hannibal watched him, stunned. Tears were streaking down Murdock's cheeks from behind his aviators. It was a weighted decision. Murdock had just pulled his own ripcord; giving up his wings in hopes of finding his sanity and getting them back. He'd done it so Hannibal didn't have to. "Permission granted." It was solemn and...something else, something too deep to define. "On the contingency you keep me informed, you find a way to contact me if you need to." Hand going to Murdock's boney shoulder he added, "I'm not losing you, Lieutenant."

"I'll hold on, and I'll find Face. " Murdock was tense and tight under his hand. "You're the only family we got Hannibal. I won't forget and I won't let you down, Sir."

Hannibal snapped off a salute, releasing Murdock from the military world for perhaps the last time. "You've never let me down. I'm damn proud of you, Murdock."

Something moved through the pilot. Hannibal could feel it under his hand and see it in the man. Straighter and more focused, Murdock snapped off a perfect salute and then pulled Hannibal into a tight hug. Before Hannibal could react, Murdock let go. He had a goal, a mission, something to work towards. "It's been an honor." With that Murdock was leaving, sliding down the ladder and running across the compound, entirely focused and broken.

XXXXX

Face was still dripping sweat and breathing hard, eyes clamped closed against the reality that sobriety had brought him when Diz's voice cut through the fog in his head. Diz was a buddy of Duncan's and somehow owned the house he'd been flopping in. Face hadn't bothered asking questions. He just knew that if he wanted to get high, the supply was never ending with Diz. He'd swung by after he'd had dinner with Leslie. They had talked about going for a walk, but he'd could feel edges of reality creeping in on him and getting too close, so he'd cut it short and said his goodbyes for the night with a promise to make it up to her and a kiss on the cheek.

"Woah man, you sound all kinds of uptight." Diz wasn't exactly a genius.

Face forced his eyes open, pushing a breath out through pursed lips as he pulled himself back together. "Yeah I know it. Sorry man, I know you got a party going."

"Don't be sorry bro. But if you want to chill, I got some good shit." Diz's voice took on some reverence. "Fix up all that ails you."

"Yeah?" Face didn't hide his interest. A few hours ago he'd been floating high on pills and hash and he'd woken up in a nightmare. Obviously it wasn't working as well as it should have been anymore. Pushing himself up, Face grabbed his shirt, slipping it on and covering up his dogtags before Diz focused enough to realize they were there.

"Yeah, you ride the dragon and all this shit just, _poof_. Disappears." Somewhere in his talk, Diz had pulled out a loaded syringe.

Looking at the syringe, Face could still feel his heart pounding in his chest, the adrenaline making his hands shake from the memories that had been unburied. They'd only come back, stronger and more real. The last few weeks it had been all he could do to keep them at bay and try to get a few hours sleep between the nightmares and the memories and lows.

"I got this from Bones. Nobody in all of Cali-fuckinging-fornia has shit as good as this." Diz twirled the syringe between his fingers and grinned. "Swear to God, a little sting in the arm and then you'll be alright jack."

"What the hell, right?" A dry laugh escaped him. He'd either get bent and away from his ghosts or he didn't. No harm no foul.

"Right on man." Diz handed him a belt. "Here, get that on. See the thing is you can use it a lot of different ways, but trust me, nothing is as good as shooting it up. _Bam!_ Baby, instant fucking high."

Face sat down on the bed, pushing the sleeve of his shirt up and slipping his arm through the belt, tightening it down and pumping his fist a few times to help his veins pop. By the time he was done Diz was lining up a vein. "How much you got there?"

"Just a taste. All for free." Before he could ask anything else Face felt the sting and the burn and then warmth tingling its way up his arm, hitting his brain full on, whiting everything out and bringing it back with soft edges. "Just breath, Killer. Let the heroin do the rest."

He could feel his grip relaxing on the belt, it loosening around his arm and every muscle in his body relaxing into a nice foggy blanket. It was like he'd finally come home to open and welcoming arms. It was nothing and that was everything. Sagging against the mattress, Face did exactly what Diz had instructed and let the world go as the smack pushed the nightmares and shadows back to the controllable recess of his mind.

Heroin. He'd found his salvation.


	19. Chapter 19

Cruiser's grip tightened on the jeep's rollbar as they hit another pothole and rounded the corner. They were headed back to the village, to make sure nobody was having an adverse reaction to the vaccines. It was like the opposite of the blankets with the Indians and Small Pox. One of the few things that Cruiser did that didn't take place under heavy gunfire or for political reasons. Fact was, these parts of the world hadn't been exposed to most of the diseases that the G.I.'s carried. Even if they weren't oozing bacteria, they all carried it and the villagers had no protection from it.

Cruiser had made several of these runs over the years. It was never easy. Finding the village, making sure to not get shot on the way in, getting permission from the elder, and then getting his hands on enough vaccines. It was all leg work that he would normally hate, but the fact of the matter was, it gave these kids one less thing to fall victim to. One less fight they had to battle out when they should just fucking be enjoying playing in the mud.

"You wanna drive it more like a Tonka Truck?" Cruiser shot. BA may be the best driver around, but this ride fucking sucked and it was an hour in country. It was a good thing they weren't hauling around explosives.

"You wanna stop cryin'? We almost there."

"There's the whole trip back. I'll work on my material." BA didn't break a smile but Nygen laughed. At least today they had an interpreter they'd used before and who wasn't an asshole. The guy's laugh had barely died down when BA pulled the jeep over and shut it off. Instead of getting out and moving, like they had work to do, he just sat there, eyes narrowing at the air. Judging by the scowl something had him on edge.

Cruiser's ears automatically perked, on edge and feeling out whatever had BA's spidey sense tingly. He didn't need to ask, BA would tell him when he pinpointed it himself. Glancing back at Nygen, he was looking around too.

The jungle was silent. No monkeys screaming, no birds squawking, nothing. The jungle was a noisy fucking place. Unless something was wrong, then it was dead silent. BA nodded to Cruiser, confirming that they were both aware, without saying a word. M16s at the ready, they made their way slowly and silently through the jungle and back towards the village. The closer they got the more deafening the silence was. No adults working in the forest, no kids running around playing. The hairs on the back of Cruiser's neck were standing up with frigid awareness.

BA was working the flank when a scream pierced the silence. Young, high pitched, blood curdling, and heart stopping. Cruiser froze, honing in on where it came from as a flock of birds took off, shaking the leaves of the trees. Behind the elder's hut at the far end of the village. He didn't need to say anything, BA was already working his way there. It was anything but stealth. Cruiser could heard sobbing. Still too far off to be loud, but it was getting louder and more . . . it wasn't just one person crying. Warning bells were going off, alarming in his head. None of this was adding up.

Nguyen and BA flanked the hut, thin walls made of jungle material and a dirt floor. It was the epitome of bare minimum, just a bit larger than the rest of the village. The thin door made of straw and mud and twine and sat at an awkward angle. BA went around the left, Cruiser the right.

He almost stopped mid step. There was blood everywhere; on the grass and trees and on the people huddled together, some crying softly. Bright red arterial spray marks, deeper venous splatter, all sorts, everywhere. In the middle of the clearing an old man stood, holding the little girl who had climbed up Cruiser, bold as brass. In his other hand was a machete. On the ground was the little girl's arm.

Cruiser's blood ran cold. BA was yelling, weapon pointed at the man and Nguyen was translating, rapid fire, all while Cruiser's brain put the scene into focus. On the other side of the clearing, crammed together with a few women was about a dozen of the kids from yesterday, all missing arms, most of them bleeding. One of the women was packing the remaining stump in mud, trying to stop the red tide.

His weapon slipped from his hand, dropping into the mud. Cruiser was moving, running at the motherfucker as hard and fast and complete as he could with unbridled hate and anger snapping off his chains. The rest of the village slipped into the background as he slammed into the guy, machete dropping from his hand. Cruiser didn't care, he just reacted on a primal level, taking away the thing that had just amputated fucking dozens of children's arms. Fucking hell, he didn't even know what to do with that.

Cruiser was mid swing when a hard yank on his shirt suddenly lifted him up off the old fucker and sent him stumbling backwards. Cruiser growled, trying to push through BA. What the hell was the matter with him? BA's stupid fucking huge arms were holding him back from tearing the old fucker to pieces.

"Save the kids, I got this guy."

Cruiser stopped, teeth grinding as his eyes blazed angry, cold, black hearted hate at the old man. "Get him out of here."

BA didn't argue. Pointing the weapon at the old fuck, BA jerked his head in the direction of the hut. Nguyen said something and like a sick herd of stupid fucking cows, the men and women that had sat back and watched the sick fuck mutilate and maim their kids, followed the elder into the hut.

Cruiser just stood there looking around for a moment. Letting the scene wash over him. There was blood everywhere, crying and screaming and tiny, perfect, little arms in a pile. Kneeling down next to the little girl he'd been throwing around yesterday, Cruiser put his hand on her tear streaked cheek. She didn't speak a word of English, but after a second she opened her eyes, big and deep brown, scared and in pain. His thumb brushed away the tears. He was going to make this okay.

Free hand going to the stump that was left of her arm, he squeezed it, finding the brachial artery and trying his best to occlude it. "Nguyen I need help."

The rest of it was all a blur of frustration, waste, and anger. Even when they were flooded with the backup BA must have called in, Cruiser's head couldn't take it all in. Covered in innocent blood, it was all He could do to block it out and just focus on the limb and not the kid. Traumatic amputations being packed with mud to control the bleeding. Cruiser couldn't even begin wrap his head around the absolute stupidity of it all and he didn't have time to. Everything was made harder by the little girl grabbing him with her good arm and refusing to let go.

Fuck. Him.

XXXXX

Face slammed the drawer of the dresser closed and continued looking, tossing a stack of unopened mail onto the bed in front of Leslie. When had she even gotten here? Did they have plans? He couldn't remember. Instead he continued to riffle through what little possessions he had. There had to be _something_ here.

"What are you looking for, Templeton?" Her voice was quiet and patient and a direct reflection of everything he wasn't feeling right now.

"My watch." He'd had a Longines watch. It would be perfect to see about getting some collateral out of for some product. Fucking banks closed at three and he hadn't been up in time to make it there. Diz always had smack on hand but he wasn't about to share unless it was worth his time.

"You told me someone stole it last week."

Face stopped his search, looking up at her. "I… oh… fuck that's right." Taking a deep breath he pursed his lips against his breath as he slowly exhaled. He needed something else then. Not bothering to cover the miss-stepped lie, he moved a pile of rumpled clothes out of his way.

"Templeton, sweetie. Are you okay? You seem... off."

"I'm fine." He was anything but fine. He could feel his skin starting to crawl the closer he got to sober and those harsh edges of reality were creeping in on him. He'd be fine if he could find something worth anything in this stupid room. Then he'd be right as rain. But until that happened he was very definitely not fine. "I just needed to get to the bank today but that didn't happen."

"So what does that mean?" Leslie was watching him from her perch on the window sill in front of the bed. So fucking perfect, so untouched and precious.

Resisting the urge to go through the dresser again, Face forced his attention to Leslie for the moment and shoved his hands in his pockets so the urge to move and get away from himself could be contained. He knew there was nothing in the dresser left. He'd checked already. A few times. "I need some cash and the bank is closed." Taking a step across the room to the bed, Face moved the mail again out of the way and sat down in front of her. There had to be something in this room. _Had to be_. Or he was going to die. But he couldn't spot anything and try as he might he couldn't wrack his brain enough to turn something up. He was going to have to figure something else out.

"I don't have anything for you. I'm sorry. But maybe your friends can help?"

His skin was crawling again, making his fingers twitch inside his pockets and legs bounce. Finally he pulled his hands out of his pockets and clenched and unclenched his fists. No cash in sight, he needed to think damn it. Elbows on his knees, he ran his hands through his hair, scrubbing at his scalp a bit to distract him away from the growing urgency running through his veins. "Yeah, maybe." He agreed, but he knew the answer. "I should go talk to Diz, see if he can help me out." Looking back up at her he had to ask. "You don't have a few bucks you can front me? I'll pay you back tomorrow. Promise."

"No... I don't… I'm sorry but I'm out of cash until my parents send me my living expenses check." Leslie's hands worried over her necklace. "Have you, you know, maybe talked to your friends?"

"No I haven't yet. But they're not really the lending type." Fuck he needed to do something. But the ropes around his wrists were getting tight. And he wasn't going to get anywhere in this room.

"But this one guy keeps writing you. I think he really cares..."

Oh, that friend. Face scoffed at the whole idea. He'd left that life with a nice invitation to not return. He'd gotten the message loud and clear, he didn't need to hear it again. "He doesn't give a shit. Besides, what's he going to do tonight, Western Union me some money?"

"He's written every day."

"He's nobody. It doesn't matter." Face pushed himself up off the bed. He could feel the anger starting to dump into him, mixed with his need for smack and making that want all the stronger.

"He's not nobody. He's your friend."

"He's _not_ my friend!" He couldn't keep the anger out of his voice. "He's some fucking nutjob from a different life who somehow tracked my address down."

"But Templeton, what are you?"

"What's it matter? Nobody fucking cares."

Leslie looked stunned, like he'd killed her puppy or told her Santa Claus wasn't real. "Thats not true! I care. Your friend cares. God cares."

"The hell he does!" Face spun back around towards her, but that pain expression like he'd just broke her heart stopped him from continuing. She was so opposite from him. So pure and innocent and everything he wasn't. "Sorry. I just… God and I haven't been on speaking terms for a long time."

Her hand was soft and gentle against his cheek. "I care Templeton, and I'm worried about you."

He didn't look at her, instead nuzzling just a bit into her hand. She was so fucking sweet it pained him. She deserved so much more than he'd ever be. "There's nothing to worry about. I swear."

"You're a good man." She was smiling at him like he was something precious and special.

He shook his head as he spoke, "I am anything but." He'd never been good. Not good enough for the Sisters or Fathers or counselors and mentors. He'd been stupid for ever thinking that had changed.

"You're perfect to me."

"Don't." He couldn't take that. "I'm so fucking broken." Leslie had no idea how deep his cracks ran. How could she? She lived in a perfect little world where God was good and answered prayers and things like dead kids and broken dreams didn't exist. How could she know what it was like to live in a world where nightmares wouldn't leave you alone even in the daylight?

"You're beautiful Templeton."

"I just wish the world could be as beautiful as you Leslie." Closing his eyes he pushed all of it away. The hurt and want, the close touch and thoughts of something better. All where it couldn't crush him. He'd found his answer. One that wanted nothing and in turn made all his nightmares and worries fade to black. It was peace one hit at a time. It would never let him down.

"Stay with me." She whispered.

Face knew that look, he'd seen it a million times before. Want. But this time there was more innocence and love and need, for him on a deep soul baring level that had his stomach turning with his own want.

"I need to go find Diz. I'm sorry, I'll be back as soon as I can."

Leslie's hand fell to her side and before she could look away and study the floor, he saw it. Hurt, rejection, shame. Everything she shouldn't feel all because she was naive enough to believe in him. "Alright."

Leaning down, he brushed his lips on hers, pulling her into a tender kiss full of promise and everything she deserved. Before she could open her mouth to his and explore further, he let it close, pulling back just out of reach. "I promise." Taking a step back, he gave her the most charming smile he could as he turned towards the door. He needed to go find some poor schmuck's unlocked car before he found Diz. He could feel his mouth watering in the anticipation of that needle biting into his vein and the harsh edges of reality softening the moment that plunger was pushed. God he wanted that, craved that feeling so bad it made his whole fucking body hurt.

XXXXX

Hannibal Smith lived a life of action. For the first time in a long time he found himself wishing for a little less action. The POW mission, losing Face, Murdock trying to hold together the pieces, and now the cluster fuck that had left eleven Vietnamese kids with one damn arm. He'd only seen the aftermath. BA and Cruiser had the front row seats. No matter how rock steady those boys were, you couldn't see something that brutal and not be shook. After the clean up and debriefing, Hannibal had the gone to deal with Mifflin, who for once was pissed off at someone other than Hannibal and his men.

While Hannibal and Mifflin investigated what happened, BA and Cruiser had disappeared. A trip to the Motor pool should have taken him to BA, but not this time. Hannibal trudged through the mud and back to the team room in hopes of finding one of them. Even the shit of his day hadn't prepared him for what he found.

It wasn't Cruiser sitting with a open bottle of Tequila that stopped him dead in his tracks. That was expected. It was BA saying clear as day, "Pour me a double."

Cruiser just tossed him an unopened bottle from his foot locker and took a long pull off of his own fifth. "That's as much pouring as I do, man."

Cruiser looked like shit. He'd managed a shower and that was it. When they had come back into the base, he'd been covered in blood with a little girl no more than five years old clinging to him like they were surgically attached. He didn't know how they had gotten that little girl to let go of him, but if he knew his man, the bottle of tequila was treating that particularly fresh wound too.

BA at least bothered to use a cup; a beat up metal tumbler from the mess hall. Without a word the man poured a triple instead of a double and tossed it back without a flinch. For a teetotaler, he sure knew how to drink crappy booze.

Like Cruiser, BA looked like shit. Cruiser looked spun out, BA looked dead. Not angry, not upset, not even real. They had eleven kids who'd made it so far. Three had died. BA and Cruiser had seen those kids alive and laughing and then murdered by ignorance.

Hannibal didn't bother asking how they were doing. It blew all the way around. The only glimmer of good news was Murdock wasn't here to see this. He'd been sent to Saigon to get his discharge paperwork set.

Lighting up a sub-par cigar, Hannibal leaned against the wall. "Turns out the interpreter didn't speak the dialect."

"The fuck he doesn't!" Cruiser hurled the bottle at the wall hard enough that a spray of shattered glass and booze barely missed catching Hannibal. "Motherfucker." Cruiser shook his head refusing the explanation that Hannibal had just given. Was that the first or second fifth he'd had? Spinning around, Cruiser closed the gap between them.

"They found his body outside the gate." Hannibal's statement stopped Cruiser dead in his tracks. The body was a message to the Army. It was proof that the others wouldn't put up with this and warning to other hopeful interpreters lured in by quick money. It also meant Cruiser had no way to make things right. No place for all of that anger and aggression and sorrow to go. He was left twisting in the wind.

"Why?" One word, one question from BA had Hannibal's focus shifting.

"The elder thought the kids had been injected with poison that would steal their souls. He decided cutting off their arms was the only hope." There would be no changing the Elder's mind. The fact that outsiders intervened and age old beliefs meant none of those kids would be safe in that village again. That, however, was trouble for another day.

BA took another large drink

Cruiser's jaw was clenched and for once his eyes told Hannibal nothing. "We told them. It was just fucking vaccines!" Muscles tense and hands clenched into tight fists, Hannibal shifted his weight just in case there was a swing coming his way.

"The interpreter fucked up and the Elder..." Hannibal shook his head. "How the hell do you even explain that? It was a waste and pointless."

"It's not a waste! They're fucking dead and crippled because of some superstitious old fuck!" Cruiser was teetering on an edge. "They had their fucking arms hacked off for no Goddamned reason!" He was searching Hannibal for something, but there was nothing Hannibal could give to make it right or to make it make sense.

"Daniel, I don't have any answers." Hannibal made sure all the sorrow, and pain, and futility showed in his eyes. There was a time to be a leader and a time to be human, this was both. "You saved them, they have a chance now. It's all we get." He put his hand on Cruiser's tense shoulder, hoping it would be enough to anchor the man.

Cruiser shook his head, refusing the reasoning. "It's not enough. What the hell are we even here for if we can't even get the locals to trust us?"

"We're here 'cause we soldiers and they told us to be here." BA's answer was a hard fact.

Cruiser looked over at BA with flat eyes that somehow burned with hatred. "I don't do shit just because they tell me to."

"Yeah, you do."

"The fuck I do." Cruiser pushed Hannibal's hand off of him and focused on BA.

"Lie to yourself, fool. Don't lie to me." Pushing himself up and out of the chair, BA was sending an invitation to fight. But it wasn't his anger or aggression that held Hannibal's attention. Anger and aggression was baseline for for BA. It was something about the half second look BA shot Hannibal that had him holding back and watching instead of intervening.

"We all just someone's puppet."

Cruiser swung. It was a wide haymaker and just another sign of how drunk and out of sorts he was. "Fuck you!"

Hannibal relaxed back against the wall and watched as Cruiser took one swing after the other on BA. Not many landed, occasionally BA would growl and take a shot at Cruiser, just enough to keep the medic engaged. This wasn't a brawl; he'd seen those two go rounds before and it was always bloody and brutal. This was BA giving Cruiser a place to vent. How astute his mostly silent mechanic was never ceased to amaze Hannibal. It hadn't been five minutes of traded insults and jabs before Cruiser finally hit the wrong nerve on BA. Calling him an ape was always a bad idea.

BA let him have it for real, and it was over. Cruiser fell to the ground in an untidy heap. Nobody ever got back up from BA's right hook, and all things considered, Cruiser had earned every bit of it.

Shaking his head, BA picked Cruiser up off the floor. Hannibal helped drop the medic onto his bed to sleep it off. Hannibal watched as BA did a quick check of Cruiser's pulse and wordlessly returned to his spot and his bottle.

"What was that about?" Hannibal knew, but he wanted to hear it from BA's side.

"He needed me to take the punches for him." Simple as that. BA watched the glass for a second before locking his eyes on Hannibal. "It was real bad, Hannibal"

Hannibal nodded. He'd seen them come back to the base. A truckload of kids and everyone of them on the wrong side of that machete. Tourniquets on the stumps that had been their arms. Their screams of pain had finally died down to whimpers, thanks to a combination of exhaustion and pain medication. It was all Cruiser could do. He'd gone to the mash tent with them, stayed until he'd finally been booted out. And then there had been nothing for him to do and no place to go.

BA had finally given him a place to direct all that hurt and anger, and a way to walk away from it. "I can only imagine, BA." There were things that Hannibal would never be able to truly fathom seeing; this was one of them. "How are you doing with it?"

"Bad." The fifth of booze was almost gone.

Hannibal moved an old milk crate over to BA and took a seat next to his last standing man. "It means you're still human, BA." As gruff as his men were, the fact that this was shaking them meant that they were still fit for the battlefield.

"Only you and my Momma ever thought I was real."

"My Uncle always told me the hardest thing in life was remembering how to be real." Hannibal had been a kid when his Uncle got back from fighting the Japanese in World War Two. He'd been fascinated by everything his Uncle had to say about his adventures in the Pacific. When he'd asked what the hardest thing about the war had been, he hadn't understood the answer. Not until he'd lived it.

Looking at BA for a long silent moment Hannibal watched the man take another pull off the bottle. He'd never seen BA drink before. It was another sign that they needed a break before every last one of them broke. "This wasn't your fault, BA. Not yours or Cruiser's or even the military's this time around. I'm sorry it happened."

BA nodded. For a few moments there was silence. That was his way. If he said yes then he got it, if not he let you know. Pouring another drink, BA just stared at it. He was going to say something. Hannibal had come to learn to let the man take his time. He didn't say much, but when he did it was worth the wait.

"I grew up a black boy in a white man's world. Lots of people treated me like an animal. Momma kept my head on straight about that. Then I get drafted and meet this crazy white dude who treats me like I'm the same as everyone. Next thing I know I'm surrounded by crazy white dudes and they all act like that, and we doing shit and pulling off things that no one else in the world could." When BA looked up from his drink there was a flash of a smile offsetting the fact his eyes were red. "I miss them Hannibal. I always knew Face and the Fool needed us, turns out I need them too."

"That's why it was such a good team." There was no point in pretending like they'd get it back, like somehow Face and Murdock and Ray would all wind up back under Hannibal's command and it would be like old times. There was a chance Murdock would make it back, but it would never be the same. How could it?

"We need to get them back Hannibal."

"I don't know if we can anymore." Self doubt had never been something that Hannibal was accustomed to, but there was no denying that sending Face home had been like pulling that proverbial loose thread.

"Ain't nobody better at trying then us."

Hannibal's hand went to BA's massive shoulder. Letting the man know in a way that words couldn't convey, that he understood exactly how deep that need was. "You have my word I'm going to do everything I can to make us whole again."

"I know you will." There was fierce belief behind that. There was no room for doubt. The tears rolling down BA's cheeks just added to the determination. Pushing himself to his feet, BA stood just as quick, and Hannibal pulled him into a hug. There was nothing more to say. Kids getting maimed because Murdock wasn't there to interpret and Face wasn't around to ensure good politics was beyond the capability of words or human wisdom. It was surreal and there was no answer. It was a weight that Hannibal would shoulder for the rest of his life. It was the duty and price of leading his men.


	20. Chapter 20

Face stood at the waist high counter, his hands flat on the pea green Formica and let out a dry, disbelieving laugh. "I'm sorry, what?"

"Sir, you've overdrawn your account." Annabell, the teller, looked from the accounting ledger back to him with an apologetic smile. "I'm sorry but you're $425.76 in arrears, with $23.00 of overdraw fees." She added a sympathetic shrug to her smile. "There's also a $20.00 reinstatement fee for your account. I'm really very sorry."

No. That couldn't be right. He had money in his account. He'd come back to the states with over $5,000, it had all gone into his checking account. I mean sure he'd made some withdrawals, he'd needed to get set up and Los Angeles was not a cheap place to live, but all of it gone? "That can't be right."

"I'm sorry sir, but it is correct." She turned the ledger towards him so that he could see it. "You opened your account and deposited $5,322. Since then there haven't been any deposits and as you can see, lately your withdrawals have been increasing substantially."

Face glanced down at the ledger. Diz was outside, they were supposed to go see Bones after he'd gotten some cash. And now he was looking down the barrel of a very empty, dried up account that had a panicky need setting into his chest. He had to have some cash.

"I can make you a copy if you'd like."

"No." Face could barely hear his voice as he looked back up at her. "That wont be necessary." He muttered a thanks that she might have heard as he turned and left the counter to exit the bank. What the hell was he going to do?

Diz was waiting outside, leaning against the wall of the bank, eyes half closed, hands in his pockets watching women walk past like there was nothing wrong in the world. "Hey man, you good to rock and roll?"

"No." Pulling out a smoke, Face lit it up and inhaled the nicotine like it was going to help take the edge off of how bad he wanted a hit. It was like being told he had no cash and no next hit lined up made him want it all that much more. "I'm fucked man, account's overdrawn and I can't get anymore checks to write."

"So sell some shit." It was all easy for Diz he was high, the bastard.

"I don't have any shit to sell anymore." Face snapped. His list of worldly possessions hadn't been long to begin with. Now it was non-fucking-existent.

"Awe that's bad man."

"I know that."

"How bad you jonesing?" Diz was looking at him with more intensity than he usually could manage in a week.

"Bad." Face hated saying it, but his last hit had been last night. He'd done more than usual so he could sleep through the night, but it had also maxed him out. That was why he'd gotten up and headed straight to the bank. His next stop had been Bones' place, but no cash meant no Bones, no smack, and all sorts of twisted up bad.

To his surprise, Diz smiled a little and gave him a tap on the arm. "Come on, Bones knows a guy." Smiling and stoned Diz started walking towards Bones' place.

"Yeah?" He could feel that weight that had set in on him, lifting a bit. "He work on a line of credit?" Face was already moving, if Diz thought Bones could help, he was all for it. Either that or he was going to have to find some other way to make this happen.

"Like yeah man. I've seen him work out some deal with guys I know. Don't know the details but they all swear it's the best shit they've ever had."

Now that peaked his interest. Face could work deals in his sleep. He'd done one in 'Nam with Thai, the local drug kingpin, he could do it stateside with no language barrier or war zone, while standing on his head. It was perfect. Best heroin anyone had ever tried for a skill Face had mastered long ago. It couldn't have been any closer to impeccable if he'd planned it. No matter what the deal was, it was a damn sight better than the cold sweat, vomiting, skin shrinking, walls closing in, memories raging, withdrawal bullshit. Smiling at Diz Face nodded. "Cool." Yes, a deal was an angle Face could work, and it was a shit ton better than as bad as being sober could get.

XXXXX

Murdock never knew what to do when he was on a plane and not in the cockpit. It felt wrong, unnatural. Watching Japan disappear under the rapidly rising cargo plane, he was forced to accept the fact that he was nothing more than a passenger on this ride, without any control over what happened. It's the way it had to be, he wasn't safe anymore.

Less than twelve hours ago he'd been ankle deep in jungle mud, saying goodbye to the only family he had left so he could go find their prodigal son. Face had run, and once that happened he was fair game to the monsters. The same ones that had Murdock seeing a smiling little girl with beautiful black hair and a hole in her head that had blood and brain matter leaking out. The gaping head wound was the one thing that gave her away as not real. It separated her from the ranks of little Vietnamese kids with missing arms that had overrun the base. Murdock had been back for two days before he'd worked up the courage to ask BA about them. Mostly because Murdock wasn't sure if they were real or hallucinations. But when he saw BA talking to one, Murdock figured they were the real deal.

Feeling the engine of the big plane pulse under him, Murdock smiled when the straining engines mellowed down into a steady vibration. They were at cruising altitude. With nothing better to do and not wanting to sleep where others were, because really, waking up screaming in Vietnamese on a plane full of battle edged soldiers was just a bad idea, Murdock played over his goodbyes with his team.

It was supposed to be a party but no one was in a celebrating mood. Even Cruiser wasn't up for anything harder than some Coca Cola. In the heavy swirls of cigar and cigarette smoke they tried to joke and laugh and act normal, but they all knew it was just an act. After a few hours of old stories and lukewarm sodas they moved out to the ever muddy tarmac and the Freedom Bird. Funny how it didn't feel like freedom.

Just like that Murdock was standing there facing three of the guys that meant the most in the world to him, getting ready to say goodbye. He could see it on their face's; it wasn't the usual happy send off. They all knew it and could feel the unspoken sorrow and weariness. Cruiser stepped in, flicking his smoke to the ground and stepping on it. "You pull any of your crazy shit, you better have someone there to back you up first."

"Don't worry, I'll make sure my wing-man's all lined up before I go for the special fun." Except he was going into this without a wing-man and they all knew it. It was the only choice he had. He was crazy and getting crazier, but he knew, they all knew if he found Face then he had a chance, if not, Murdock was a dead man walking. Murdock offered a hand to Cruiser. When the medic took it Murdock pulled him in for a hug that Cruiser would hate and whispered low, just for the two of them. "Take care, your sister needs you to stay in one piece."

"You get your head back in the fucking clouds, got it Flyboy?" There was a hard hand smacking his back before Murdock finally let Cruiser out of the hug and he was stepping back, already pulling out another cigarette to light.

It was the deepest most heartfelt phrase he'd ever heard from Cruiser. Storing it away for the times in the future when he would need it, Murdock turned to BA. This time he didn't even bother with the handshake, he just grabbed the big guy and hugged him. "I think I'm gonna miss you most of all, scarecrow." BA was the big brother Murdock never had, and he was going to miss the voice of reason and fist of knock-it-off that BA brought to his life.

"Get off me you crazy fool!" BA barked, but he didn't shove Murdock off of him. "You act the fool in the states and I'm gonna find you and use your head for a basketball. Got it!"

"Aw BA, you say the sweetest things." From BA that was I love you, don't be stupid. Easier said then done. BA just growled, finally prying his hands between them and shoving Murdock off of him. And then there was Hannibal.

"Lieutenant." It was a genuine tone full of pride and respect that Hannibal reserved for special occasions. It had Murdock's throat feeling tight and his usual free flowing words hard to find. In all his life, Hannibal was the one person he wanted to be proud of him. His opinion, his respect, his trust meant more to Murdock than anything. That's why when the time had come, Murdock had clipped his own wings. He loved Hannibal too much to have to watch him live with doing it. Raw and half empty, Murdock didn't regret that part. He was the closest thing to a real Father that Murdock had ever had. Saving him some hurt was the least Murdock could do.

"I'll find him, sir. I promise."

"I know." Hands on either of Murdock's shoulders, Hannibal held his gaze, solid and looking right through him. "I've never been prouder to serve with anyone, son." With that, Hannibal was giving him a hug. "You get in trouble you find a way contact me." The team was due for stateside rotation. Hopefully Murdock would still be alive by then. Breaking the hug, Hannibal pulled himself up into a tight salute, one that Murdock returned with all the precision of the Marine he was. Never in his life had Murdock meant a salute as much as he did at the moment.

A sudden drop and bounce had Murdock back in the present. Turbulence had him blinking and looking around, wondering when it had gotten dark. He wanted a cigarette, he needed sleep, lighting up a smoke, he was ensuring he got one of those things. Letting the smoke fill his lungs, Murdock ignored the little Vietnamese girl with half a head who was sitting next to him and smiling. She wasn't real. But Face was, and Murdock needed to find him. He'd made a promise.

XXXXX

Bones' place was a short ten minute walk from the bank and it was exactly what Face had been hoping for. Full of the college, hippie, urban guerrilla crowd, and packed. Drugs, sex, and rock and roll. Face could smell the high the closer they'd gotten. Between the smoky haze and lack of light, you could get lost in the dark rooms full of too many people lucky enough to already be stoned out of their minds. Face hadn't made it halfway through the living room before a used up, raven haired woman was smiling and pressing her half naked body up against him. But he didn't have any product and her interest was quickly lost.

That was fine. Soon enough he'd strike this deal, be high and right with the wind, and then he could figure out if he was even interested in the likes of the women parading around. As he made his way to the back the nods from familiar faces with distant, satisfied stares were plentiful. He threw Bones a nod of his own, shoving his hands deep into his pockets, to keep the small tremors out of sight. "Hey, man."

Bones was high as hell. He always was. Drinking, smoking, and shooting up was all he did. Things like eating or washing his hair hadn't happened for years. He was a waste. Guys' parents were loaded. They bought him this place to keep him in school and out of trouble. All it did was give trouble some doors to happen behind. "Hey bro, what time is it?"

Face just shook his head, smiling all too casually. "You know how it is, just looking for some H. Town's pretty dry though."

"Yeah right man, but lucky for you the Rain Man is in town." Bones gave him a toothy smile. "Here," he handed his joint to the naked girl standing next to him. "Hold that, I gotta go show my friend here who's got the juice." Bones nodded to Face. "Come on bro, time to make some new friends." Bones lead him down a dank hallway and into a room in the back of the house. Even with the door closed Face could hear the hippie music and smell sweet hash. The door opened to a poorly lit room full of naked bodies. It was like every other whorehouse he'd been to, except in the middle of all of it sat a man in a suit. Dark haired, medium build, lean and hard with eyes that saw everything. He managed to stand out yet some how fit right in. Like a ringmaster surveying his show.

Everyone else in the room was too high or too occupied to bother noticing their entrance. Folding his hands in front of him, the guy just raised an eyebrow and gave a polite, if empty, smile to Bones.

"Is there something you need, Bones?" The cultured, bored voice was just one more surreal aspect to the room. Like the two girls giving a guy head not more than a foot away from another guy who was licking blow from a naked girls crotch. Or on the other side of the room, in the midst of a group of men, where two women were on their hands and knees, back to back working a dildo for show. More sex in more ways this side of Bangkok, and all of it was just as cool as if it was afternoon brunch.

"Nah, it's cool Marco. I just wanted you to meet my buddy. He's looking to end a dry spell." The man called Marco tilted his head a little and looked at Face. No, not looking, he was watching, seeing. Face knew the controlled power; the man was no lightweight. In a town full of wanna be's and hanger on'ers, this man was a for real bad ass boss. One that Face couldn't help but watch with more interest and curiosity than normal.

"Really?" Marco reached into his vest pocket and pulled out a cigarette case full of joints and offer one to Bones and then Face. "You seem like the type who's used to getting what they want."

Face didn't hesitate, drugs weren't free, but that's what he was in the market for. Pulling the lighter out of his pocket, Face let the guy wait while he lit up, pulling the smoke in deep to his lungs and holding it there until he couldn't help but cough. He couldn't control the smile, feeling that slow haze dim the bright reality that had started to encroach on his world. "That's some good shit." Face was taking a step closer, head full of cotton balls and everything finally starting to feel at arms length again. "I'm really looking for H though."

"Ah, well then I believe I can help you. Please have a seat." Marco nodded to the chair next to his, and like that it was empty. The woman who had been sitting there was now with another woman, committing a very vivid and distracting sin of the flesh. "Have a drink with me and we'll figure out a way to get what we need."

Very vivid indeed. Soft flesh against soft, all naked and sweaty and a very erotic way as the blond dropped to her knees. Face sat down, finally pulling his eyes away from the women just in time to have shot glass put in his hand. He raised the glass in a toast, "To business and quality product."

"I'm a firm believer in both." Marco raised his glass in return, just like that Face's drink was burning its way down his throat, combining with the haze of excellent weed. The drugs, the booze, the sex; all warm and buffering, keeping him distant and relaxed. Not too relaxed. The things the blonde and brunette were doing to each other had him shifting on the chair.

"What about you... ah?" Marco waved the bottle a little as he refilled Face's glass. He'd let the sentence hang.

"Templeton." Face took a moment to take another hit of weed. It was good but it wasn't the smack he so desperately wanted. One more hit, more distance, more of that edge taken off. "I've always been of the belief that your product is you." He smiled lazily, there wasn't a time in his life where he hadn't been dealing something. Legal or not. And business was always based on reputation.

"That is very true, Tem." Marco was was leaning back in the chair, watching again. "I have plenty of high quality product. What is it that you have?"

And there it was. The pay dirt of his problem. Face threw back the second shot, letting the burn give him some time to sort out his pitch. He made sure to give an appreciative nod at the liquor. "Depends on what you're looking for, maybe some product moved around, kind of line services I've worked with in the past. Maybe something you need. Diz mentioned that you work deals here and there, and I know how to make things happen."

Marco laughed a little, a low deep sound at odds with the grunts and groans from the others in the room. Leaning forward, almost into his personal space Marco smiled. "I'm willing to trade a sample of my finest China White, if you're willing to give me a sample of what I want."

Was his head too foggy to make that sentence make sense? "What?" Face shook his head a bit. "I'm hard up on cash, but I'm good for whatever."

"Excellent." Marco was closer now, his voice low and in Face's ear, like a whisper. "A taste of this." In his hand was a loaded needle. "For a taste of you."

Eyes on the needle, his mouth was watering. It was right there, close enough to reach out and touch. But there was a deal to be closed and it was all shades of foggy in his head. "For…" He wasn't that high and he couldn't follow this. Was the weed that good or was it just Marco? "What?"

"You need to feel the rush of heroin burning up your arm and making everything okay again. You've been using for a while, long enough have your skin feel too tight and your body revolting at the idea of waiting another second for the pain to fade." His voice was low, and he was looking Face in the eyes, long enough for Face to cut his glance away and find those girls again. He looked back when Marcos' hand came to rest on Face's knee. "I know I can make all of it go away. I can get you higher than you've ever been. You won't ever have to come down again. All you have to do is give me what I want." Face was very aware of the scene around him and the hand moving slowly up his thigh and the warm breath in his ear, and his heart pounding in his chest.

Face was looking at him, catching Marcos' eyes, trying to figure out what the hell the man wanted. "What's that?"

"You."

That…. Suddenly his mouth was dry. The guy was serious. The hand on his thigh, the close proximity, the reading stare. He wanted Face. What the hell did that even mean? He wanted what with him? Sex? "I'm not a fag, man." The words were slow and cottony coming from his mouth.

"That doesn't matter. It's just business. My product, for yours." So calm, so reasonable.

Marcos' hand was lining up a vein between Face's fingers. "Here's your sample, all you have to do is say the word."

Eyes on that needle, so close to biting into his vein and wiping it all away again, Face looked up at Marco. There wasn't a choice to be made. He wanted the smack, Marco had smack. There was no choice to be made. "Deal."


	21. Chapter 21

Leslie once again found herself looking at Templeton and offer up a silent prayer to God. For the past few weeks he'd been losing weight, his handsome profile changing to hard edges and steep valleys. The perfect California tan was gone, leaving him looking sallow and worn. But what worried her most, even more than how sick he looked, was how he seemed to stop caring. It was like he gone off looking for his watch and come back a ghost.

They had agreed to meet here, but when she'd arrived, her knocking woke him up. Glassy eyed and groggy Templeton had stumbled off to the bathroom, leaving her to her own devices. She sat on the edge of Templeton's bed, knees together, ankles crossed, just like the nuns at St. Stephens had taught her. There was something very wrong and all she was doing was working her thumb and forefinger over the gold cross necklace her mother had given her for her Confirmation. Finally, Templeton returned in different clothes, but the new ones were just as dirty as the old ones. Even his beautiful hair was greasy and barely combed. When was the last time he'd even showered?

She'd asked Father Matthew for guidance, he'd suggest a novena to St. Joseph. Father Matthew said St. Joseph would intercede for the sick and those in doubt. Templeton was both. He'd been raised by Nuns, but felt abandoned by God. It broke her heart to see the pain in his eyes, the pain he tried so very hard to hide.

Leslie loved him in a way that scared her. For the first time ever she wanted to know a man. She wanted to know everything about Templeton, to ease his pain and sooth his troubled soul. One smile from him was all it had taken for her to feel what all the other girls in high school had been giggling and dreaming about. In all of her fantasies she'd never imagined it would be this frightening.

"Templeton? Are you feeling alright?"

"Yeah." Rubbing his eyes with the palms of his hands, he looked somehow both relaxed and uneasy at the same time. Dropping to his sides, he pulled at the tattered cuffs that hung too far over his hands. "I'm good. Just a long week." He dropped his eyes away from her, almost choking on the last of that sentence.

"Templeton, you're not okay." Leslie never spoke out of turn or contradicted people. Especially a man; she'd been raised proper. So why was she letting go of her cross and leaning forward, trying to get him to look at her, to get him to see that it was okay to need help and that she could help. "Please, go to the campus medical office, or even a doctor in town. Something, anything, before…" Leslie stopped before she could finish that. Death wasn't a topic young ladies should speak of. She could feel her hands clutching the worn bedspread while she silently and desperately prayed for Templeton ... most loving father, ward off from Templeton every contagion of error and corrupting influence; our most mighty protector, be propitious to him and from heaven assist him in his struggle with the power of darkness... The familiar words didn't bring the usual comfort and peace.

"Before what?" He snapped. But, he didn't snap, that was part of why she liked him so much, he was soft and quiet, but there was more in his eyes that she couldn't place and a hard edge. "I'm sorry." He stepped back, shaking his head, looking at anything but her. "I'm fine, I really am." Why did it look like he couldn't stand being near her anymore? All the places he had been so smooth had somehow been replaced with jumpy and strained.

It had to be her. He wouldn't talk to her, he couldn't even look at her. What ever was wrong, she was somehow making it worse. Knowing that had her stomach tightening and made it hard to breath. She couldn't bring herself to look at him, she didn't want to see the anger in his eyes when she wouldn't accept his lie.

"No, no you're not." It was so hard to say, she had to fight to get the words out and even then it was barely a whisper. "I'm so sorry Templeton, but you are not okay." Standing up Leslie made herself to look at him. He was a good man, he deserved that much. "I don't know what's wrong, but there is something wrong, and I seem to make it worse." She should have been able to do better or be better or at least offer him solace.

His eyes were closed. "You don't - " he shook his head, "No, no you don't, Leslie." He seemed to mean it, his voice almost urgent about it. "I'm just trying to figure some stuff out, alright? I promise I'm okay."

"What do you need to figure out?"

"Nothing Leslie. I just..." There was a sadness and urgency, almost a plea, but not quite... she couldn't quite place it as he talked. "I need to get my head straight, figure out some cash and get some sleep."

He was out of money? When her Dad had been audited all he did was stay up and pace and yell. Guilt rushed through her, what kind of woman was relieved that her boyfriend was having money problems? "Is there anything I can do to help?" Leslie knew better than to ask what had happened to the money. It wasn't a woman's place to be so forward.

His laugh was hollow and made her stomach ache. Nothing like what she had known a few short weeks ago. "Unless you can float me your check, I'm on my own with this."

"How much do you need?"

"Like a hundred bucks will probably get me through the end of the month. I should be able to get things sorted out by then."

She didn't have that kind of money. Leslie had enough for school and her summer jobs held left her with a small safety cushion, but she'd lent that money to Templeton two weeks ago. She should have known he was having money trouble! A sudden and sad thought hit her.

"Have you been selling your things to get by? Is that where your watch went and your other things?" How sad was that? Someone as brave and kind as him, forced to have sell things just to make it by. If she hadn't been so worried about her feelings maybe she would have seen it sooner.

Taking a deep breath, he didn't answer for a long moment. Hands pulled into his sleeves, he buried them into his pockets trying to figure out what to say to that. It made his too big tattered jeans pull down on his hips, showing the ribs and bones. "Yeah."

In an instant Leslie knew what to do. It was as if the Holy Spirit was guiding her hands, under her hair, at the back of her neck, undoing the clasp on her necklace. Holding the cross, still warm from her body in one hand, Leslie pulled at his wrist with the other, tugging his hand free from his pocket. Before he could do more than stare at her, she dropped the necklace into his hand and closed her fingers around his.

"Here, take this. My Mother said it's eighteen carat gold. It won't get you one hundred dollars but it should get you something."

His fingers tightened around it and his simple "thank you" told her just how bad off he was. "I'll get it back to you. I promise."

"I know you will."

XXXXX

LA was hot, but not the heavy, damp, Vietnam smothering hot. It was a warmth that caressed your skin with varying degrees of intensity based on how hard the ocean breeze was blowing. It was paradise, exactly the sort of place a hedonist like Face would love.

Murdock tried to shove his hands in his pockets as he walked down the street, only to be reminded that his arm was still pissed about being shot. Without the sling he tended to forget. Then again he was forgetting lots of things lately. The little girl next to him chatted along in Vietnamese. He couldn't see her today but he could hear her laughter. It was easy at the base to pick it out as wrong, but out in the real world with all the noises and voices it was harder to push away. Murdock could head back to the base, but there was no reason to. As of oh-nine-hundred he was on leave. Murdock only had one mission, one purpose, and it was very personal.

Finding Face.

All Murdock had to go on was a PO Box at UCLA. That was more than enough. He would find Face. He was good at finding things. There was only one person he couldn't find, but that was a pain for later. Murdock could find his team in the dark in a hot LZ, finding Face in LA would be a piece of cake.

The campus was easy enough to get around, Murdock had no issues finding the P.O. boxes in the student union. He also didn't have any issues with the stares and comments from a few of the angrier hippy types. Compared to the ghost girls laughing, their taunts were harmless.

Looking around the hall full of shiny bright lives with promise and hope, Murdock saw just what he needed to find Face. The pretty little brunette working behind the counter at the information center smiled at him. Taking off his aviators, Murdock gave her his best Southern Gentleman smile.

"Pardon me Ma'am, I was wondering if you could help me?"

It took her a second to realize he was talking to her, but when she did, all the blood seemed to rush to her cheeks and cause her to smile and somehow try to look away. "I sure hope so."

"I'm sure you can darling." Murdock let the drawl go. She was cute and sweet and should feel special. The least he could do was make her feel beautiful. Just like Face would have done. "I'm lookin' for a friend of mine. A real handsome guy in a beach blanket bingo kinda way. Got a smile that runs about two million megawatts, his name's Templeton Peck."

"Hmm…" She contemplated that for a moment, cocking her head ever so slightly as she did. "You have a picture or something maybe?"

"Right here." He gave her his own epic smile and photo from his pocket. BA had taken it, a snap shot of Murdock with his arm around Face's shoulder, and Face with his shirt off, grinning and looking like he was ready for the beach. It was a perfect image of calm and friendship in the middle of hell. Funny that a man who could box a Wildebeest and win had such an artistic eye and pure soul.

"Oh, you mean Killer!" Her smile got even bigger at the sight of Face with his shirt off. "Yeah, he comes by every few days. He took me out for coffee after I helped him get set up with his mail box. Nice guy."

Killer? Murdock managed to not flinch. Face had ran as far as he could and reinvented himself. Some part of Murdock held on to the hope that Face had gone for bigger and better, even though he knew in his heart that Face would be in as bad of shape as Murdock was. The name Killer confirmed what he didn't want to think about.

"Now that sure sounds like my friend. Do you maybe know where I could find him?"

"Yeah, I've seen him hanging out at stupid Diz's dive of a place." The way she deflated with annoyance couldn't be good. "It's the third house off the South end of the campus. You can't miss it, it's the pigsty with the rusted out motorhome parked in front."

"Thank you kindly, Ma'am. You've been very helpful." Murdock tipped his hat to the girl. He could have asked for her name or number but what was the point. If things were as bad as he was afraid, he would fulfill the blood promise they'd made. After that neither Face nor Murdock would be alive to care.

He was pretty sure the laughter wasn't real.

A quick walk led him right to the place the girl described. The girl was right, it was a pigsty. No, not true, pigs didn't leave trash and shit all over the yard. It wasn't the unkempt, unwashed people milling in and out that got to Murdock. No, what got him was a the lost dead eyed look that reminded him of his sister and all she'd lost.

The closer he got to the house the louder the music and heavier the smell of pot became, not just pot, other things. God Dammit Face! Flicking his smoke to the ground, the smoke he'd never realized he had, Murdock headed up the termite infested steps and through the open front door.

The smell and sounds and black lights and lava lamps hit him all at once, making him want to lash out and crush all the noises crowding in his head. He didn't have time for that. He had to find Face. Grabbing the shoulder of the guy closest to him, Murdock yelled over the music. "Hey, where's Killer?" Assholes picking a name like that; like it was a joke to cut the life out of someone. The half alive kid nodded his head towards a back hall, without another word Murdock strode across the room and into the hall. The hairs on his neck stood on end when he saw the pile of filthy clothes and lank greasy hair. He knew what he didn't want to know and saw what he didn't want to accept: there leaning against the door, high out of his mind was what was left of Face, the best friend he'd ever had.

XXXXX

Eyes sliding close, Face let the back of his head lull against the wall of Diz's place, loving the welcome, warm pull of the heroin, right into its cottony fog. It hushed the noise from everyone else in the house and in his head until there was nothing but a muffled, entirely white hum. He wasn't hurting or thinking, or trying to get away from either. Just sinking into the wall behind him and letting the world roll on by like a powerful wave deep in the ocean. It felt so fucking good to not feel.

He needed this all the time. To forget it all. Sunshine, Hannibal, Murdock, Butch, Ivan, Marco… all of it, fading away to black and finding that peace that only a sting in his arm brought. It was as close to Father Maghill's promise of a state of grace as he'd ever find.

It was beautifully distant noise. All of it; the laughter and chatter in the room, the music, the bustling. The screaming and begging of the past locked away in his head, unable to get through the fog.

Hands were grabbing the front of him and pulling him upwards, making his head flop backwards, snapped him out of his sought after high. What? Instinct kicked into gear, forcing his eyes open and his hands to try and protest the assault as he scrambled to get his feet under him again. What the hell was going on? Muted thoughts making his limbs heavy and his words slurred "Get the fuck off me!" He tried to plant his feet on the ground, but his stupid legs were still enjoying the high. Whoever was on him was more efficient. Face couldn't fight his way free.

Without even managing to slow the guy down, Face was dragged by the back of his jacket, through the hall and towards the burning bright light from the front door. "Awe now don't be shy Killer." That voice grated, ringing bells he didn't want any part of. "Gotta take a little walk, can't talk when we're surrounded by shit. You should remember the value of securing your surroundings."

It was all garbled in layers of familiar and unwanted, wrapped in the need to get free and run. Adrenaline dumped into his veins, panic fighting the sedate lull of heroin. His efforts to break free had him bouncing off a wall and tripping over garbage strewn on the floor. "Fuck off, Murdock!" Murdock? Why'd his mouth know what was going on but he still couldn't put the pieces together?

"Nope." Murdock tossed him out the door and into the beer can littered yard. Losing his balance, his feet got tangled in debri. Desperation had him trying to right himself, but his attempts to push himself up only lead to faltering and finally falling down. By the time he managed to stop flailing and get to his back, he saw with his own burning, watering eyes what his brain already knew. Murdock was here. Fuck.

"Well looky looky, Sergeant Peck's gone and got himself a new name and a new life. How about that? Tell me Killer, do you like being a heroin using waste of space, boy?"

"I'm not your fucking Sergeant."

"No, you're my fucking friend, moron!" Murdock was on him, pinning him to the ground, eyes blazing with rage and something Face fucking got high to forget.

"I'm not shit to you anymore you stupid fuck." Face didn't have time for this bullshit. He'd been discharged, packaged up all nice and tidy without word one about it. They could all fuck off and stay in Vietnam where they belonged. Grabbing whatever he could get his hands on, Face clawed, trying to get out from under the taller man. When the hell had Murdock gotten stronger than him? Finally he managed to pull his head back and slam it forward, smashing his forehead into Murdock's nose.

Blood poured down down. It always did with them. From Murdock or him, he couldn't tell and it didn't fucking matter. He just needed the stupid fuck to get off him, or to let up or something, but no. Fucking Murdock never could just stop. Bleeding all over both of them, Murdock balled his fist up into Face's shirt and lifted him a few inches off the ground, slamming him back down, bouncing his head off the ground.

"Liar! I'm your fucking friend! We made a promise!"

Face's ears recognized the sickening, hollow laugh as his own. White flashes in his vision that punctuated Murdock's attack. "I can't even kill myself, you son of a bitch."

Letting go of his grip on Murdock's jacket, Face shoved his palm up against the pilot's jaw, trying to make some space to get away, but the blood was making things slippery and the heroin just wanted to sleep again. "Why couldn't you just stay the fuck in Vietnam!"

"What's wrong, Facey? Can't stand the fact someone actually loves your sorry ass enough to track you down and pull you out of your little rat hole?"

There was a fist to the jaw, snapping his head back and diming the edges of his vision. Face rolled as much as he could under Murdock. He wasn't getting away. He was done, bringing his arms up to cover his head, the hollow laugh was back, echoing out of him. Only one person loved his sorry ass and Face'd rather die than go there again. "Do it, Murdock. Fucking kill me."

"You wanna die, Facey? Fine! You tell me that when you are sober and ain't dying for a fix and I'll do it." Face could feel Murdock's hands shaking, and hear how his voice had dropped to a whisper. "I mean it. I ain't going to leave you like this."

"Do it, man." Face didn't even know if Murdock could hear him through the ringing in his ears and the safety of his arms. "I'm five minutes into my high, as stoned as I can get." When more fists didn't rain down on him, Face peered out at a man he'd once sworn his life to in blood that had spilled from neither of them. "You think being sober is going to change my mind, you don't have a fucking clue what you're talking about, I don't give a shit how much you think you know from watching Lanie chase that needle."

Murdock flinched and Face knew he'd hit home, just like he'd wanted. He needed to piss Murdock off, he needed him to end it. To put Face out of his fucking misery, to do what Face couldn't. He was so close to free.

Until Murdock put his head back and howled. Not anger, not pain, but fucking laughter. Dry and unhinged it echoed through the yard and off the two of them and out into the open and up to the cops who'd appeared with their guns drawn.

"The drugs sure wanna kill you, but I need to wait to talk to the real Face." The fucker was smiling when he said it. There was just a hint of emotion, the pain and hate and fear and misery in Murdock's eyes before the shouting of orders cut through. Hands were grabbing at him, pressing him to the ground, orders to freeze and handcuffs clicking, all before Face could piece it together.

They drug Face and Murdock to separate campus security cars. It didn't take long for the actual cops to arrive after that. Campus security was adamant they go to jail. They'd been having problems with that house, shocking as that was, and they wanted charges pressed on everyone. Fuck it. Face let his eyes slip closed. It didn't matter, it was more shit that could all fall on top of the pile of things that heroin made go away.

A/N: We did it! They're finally back together! A quick note; this last scene was one of the first written when exploring the basis of this book. It has taken us almost 5 years to see it published, and what a journey it has been.


	22. Chapter 22

Murdock was pacing. Back and forth, back and forth, quick turns and forcing himself to push through all his unwanted company; Trace and the girl and the Marine who'd drowned in his own blood a few months ago while they'd all watched helplessly. Right past the horrified Viet Cong who'd been carved up at the hands of an animal. They weren't real anymore. Neither was Face, not until he was sober and past the dope sick. Murdock needed out of the jail cell, he needed to not be listening to Face's fucked up breathing and twitching, and smelling the destitution. It was too close. He'd been down this damn road before, he wasn't going to lose anyone else on it.

He needed Hannibal.

Closing his eyes for a second he walked into the spot where the half headed girl was giggling up at him. Focus. Damn it, there was no time for voices and memories. He had to get out of here. Get help, get Hannibal. The police had separated him and Face for booking. Prints, pictures, all shit he'd done before. The only thing that was new was the way he'd flinched when they took his took his dog tags. It had been years since he'd had them off.

No dog tags, no uniforms, no ID. Gotta love CIA missions. People screaming at him and Hannibal in Chinese, Murdock knew what they were saying. They knew that. Grabbing him, yanking at Murdock's hair, yelling questions he could never answer. Punches, kicks, Bamboo canes; it all blended, it was white hot pain, too much to get away from, too big to hold on too. Hannibal yelling, trying to distract, draw their attention. He wanted to tell Hannibal it was okay. Murdock knew how to take beatings. It would stop and he would heal or he would die. You just rode it out, far away, looking down from the top corner of the room watching it all from a warm safe distance. ragging and hands and he was upright trying to hold his head up, one eye swollen shut, lips bleeding, he give a smile his best try. They would get nothing. It was so easy, he was a pro.

And then the world stopped.

He heard the words before he saw the needle. Heroin; get him to talk. Somewhere in the distant darkness an animal screamed in pain and attacked. Lashing out, trying to kill everything in its path, and then the scream was a wailing keening and everything lost focus. The needle had hit home He was going under, drowning in nothing, losing control . . .

No! No! He couldn't be there now. No! He was in a holding cell, not China. He was waiting to make his phone call and to be arraigned. He had to keep control. Face needed him, the real Face. He had to do right by their oath. Forcing himself to stand still and pry his hands off his throbbing skull, he looked at the mess that used to be the one person in the world who understood, who knew.

Yanking his hands down, he spun around, grabbing the bars, trying to focus on breathing. Deep breaths in and out. Panicking was stupid. Something he didn't do. He could bring a huey down on top of Charlie's little pea brain in the middle of a firefight, with bombs exploding and people dying and never break a sweat.

He could do this.

He had to do this.

He had made a promise.

One that was going to kill them both.

Stupid, stupid, stupid. Why the fuck did it have to be heroin? Face had avoided it like the plague, even when he was muling it in 'Nam. Why? He could have fought it, he could have done anything. Why that?

Murdock knew the answer, he knew just how far away you could go. Only difference was he didn't need heroin to get lost. Murdock spent most of his life lost, he needed something to tie him to the real world, to keep him from wandering too far off into those dark woods.

"God damn it, Face! You were supposed to be real!" Murdock's foot hit Face's shoulder with just enough force to shake his whole wasted, stinking, emaciated body.

That earned him a groan. Skeletal hands batting at Murdock's foot a few seconds too late. The one thing he'd never thought he'd see was Face looking like an abused stray in a county orange. "Fucking just let me sleep!"

"You ain't sleeping you stupid shit, you're passed out!" He managed not to hit Face again, even though Murdock's hands were twitching to slap the stupid out of Face.

Face's body rose with the first actual deep breath he'd managed to take the whole time they'd been there. A second later a frustrated hand was scratching at his face and pushing too long hair out of his eyes before shoving himself up to sit on the edge of the bed. "Who the fuck cares? It's as close to sleep as I ever get anyway."

"I do you stupid shit!" It was pointless, Murdock knew it, but he was still arguing with an addict. He was too mad not to.

"Yeah, well I don't."

"Too fucking bad. I don't give a damn what the damn drugs think. I don't care about the junkie. I only care about what Face says."

Trace snickered off to Murdock's side. Told you Peck was useless. Dead Trace was just as much of an asshole as the live one had been.

"Right." It was dismissive at best and lacked any real fight. Pushing himself up, Face was unsteady as he made his way to the other side of the cell to the toilet.

"Poor little junkie can't stand being loved." Murdock was smiling because he knew he was right. "It's a lot easier to be forgotten, hated even. Easier to handle." Murdock stepped closer, looking for any sign of life in Face's bloodshot eyes. "Run off to be someone new, no one knowing. It's so much easier to take a punch then to have to see someone care about you."

"Fuck off, Murdock." Hand on the wall in front him, holding himself steady, Face didn't even bother looking at Murdock. Finally frowning, like he was still processing what Murdock had said as he pulled the lever for the toilet. "What the hell are you even doing here?"

"Wow boy, you sure you ain't been shooting up stupidity? 'Cause I already told you why I'm here." He was close now. Face was a threat, not this guy. Murdock smiled wide. "I'm here cause I made a promise and sealed it while my hands were covered in that guy's intestines." Murdock nodded to the VC in the corner with arms covering the torn open guts, trying to hold what was left in. Murdock was still smiling, watching Face close enough to see the shove coming a mile away. It was so easy to step with it.

Laughter filled the cell, Murdock's mixing with the others. "Don't be mad, I'm just answering your question."

Face didn't follow up the shove like Murdock had expected, settling for the space instead. "You're a fucking douchebag. That's it."

"Oh yikes, you're wit it is so very sharp, better be careful, don't wanna get cut." Murdock stepped back to the cell door. Someone was coming, he could hear the footsteps. "Hey, Killer." Murdock tried to push his hands in his pockets and lean against the bars. He was half successful, the bullet hole in his arm stopped him a bit short. "Tell me, just how long do you think you have before your skin starts creeping up your back and you get all clammy, stomach twisting up, making you puke up food you ain't even eaten? Man I bet it's gotta suck to be strung out and locked up far away from getting the high on."

Face shot him a glare but that was all. Jaw clamping shut, Face flopped down on the bunk, eyes closing tight. His filthy, track marked hands went over his eyes. One more desperate attempt at a barrier to keep the world out. It would have been laughable if it wasn't so damn pitiful. "I came half a world away to find you, I'm not going away, pretending ain't gonna change that."

He stopped talking, the footsteps were too close. This was a private conversation, meant only for Face and him, not for the guard standing at the door. "Murdock, you're out." It was no surprise that a nice, fresh from the military boy was going to walk away from fighting with a drug addict. The guard opened the door. "You may wanna get that cut stitched up and stop hanging around with scum like Peck."

Murdock strolled out of the cell, smiling at the scum and then at the cop. "But Officer, I love him." He made sure to say it loud enough for Face to hear too. The core part of Murdock, the part that just loved to stir up trouble, grinned at the officers appalled expression. Served the bastard right for calling Face scum. Nobody but team had earned the right to judge him. Somewhere under the mess of drugs was a tiny spark of Face. Murdock had pushed 'till he'd found it. It was there, he saw it, he knew. Now he had to figure out how to get past all the drugs and jonesing and defense to ask the real Face the only question that mattered.

He needed to talk to Hannibal.

XXXXX

Three O'clock in the morning was not a time when anyone expected to be woken up. Let alone by some scrawny private that couldn't have been in country for more than a few days insisting that he get up and take a phone call from the states. Even in his half dead state of awareness Hannibal was up and moving at the mention of Murdock's name. A phone call was not good and Hannibal could feel the anticipation and dread as he made his way across the base, to the TOC, steeling himself for what was to come.

"This is Smith." He said into the over-sized receiver.

"I found Face, but he's not all Face anymore." Murdock's voice was loud, it had to be to fight it's way through static and eight thousand miles. Even with all the distance, Hannibal could feel the blunted, flat edges that were so very wrong coming from his overly animated Lieutenant.

He'd found Face. That was the only thing that made sense or gave any light to the situation. "What do you mean he's not Face any more?" Hannibal's eyes were narrowing at nothing. Willing the connection to hold strong and for Murdock to have hung on to the last bit of sanity he'd had left the last time Hannibal had seen him.

"He's using. Got himself all turned into a junkie and I can't find the real Face to ask him." It wasn't rambling but it was close.

"He's using?" Hannibal stood there for a second. Perhaps the connection was faulty. But no, there was no clarification coming from Murdock. "How bad and what?" There were a few things that Hannibal needed to know.

"Heroin." The drop at the end could have been the connection, but Hannibal knew better. It was Murdock having to force out the word. It was one answer for both questions. Hannibal's eyes slipped shut, his heart sinking into the pit of his stomach. It had to be heroin. What the hell was that kid thinking? He'd seen what that shit lead to. Hell, Hannibal had pulled him out of his entry level position on the other side of the business, and now he up and decides to start using?

No. That was just. Unacceptable. His team. His crew did not succumb to something as stupid and worthless as heroin. Hannibal Smith wouldn't have it. It was steel inside of him like it had been years ago with Murdock, and it was with Thai, and it was a fact that still remained true. A pop of static snapped him back to the fact that Murdock was still on the other end of the phone, calling from another world. "Where are you at?"

"Outside the LAPD. Face is still locked up."

"He's in jail?" That didn't matter. Actually, all things considered it may be better for both Face and Murdock if Face was in jail. Maybe Murdock too.

"Yeah, but keeping him there may be a problem." It always was.

"I need an address Murdock." Hannibal shuffled around, grabbing at containers on the desk trying to find a pen and paper. "Some place I can find you."

"Two blocks off the main campus of UCLA. Face got a room at a piece of shit party house owned by a idiot who goes by Diz. I'm going stake it out."

"No." That was worse than Custer's genius planning at Little Bighorn. "Murdock you're not staying there, that's asking for problems."

"You're breaking up." Murdock was a shitty liar.

His voice raised a notch, taking full command over the phone. "You want to help Face, you lay low. Find a motel somewhere near until I get there."

"Do you think it's me?"

"No." Somehow Hannibal's stomach sank even more. He knew what Murdock was asking, like a little kid, frail and alone who had been shunned one too many times and just wanted a hug. "No, Murdock, it's not you."

Eight thousand miles away he could hear Murdock let out a shaky breath. "We need help. We need you."

Didn't they all. "Hang in there Murdock, I'll be on the next flight out." He wasn't quite sure how he was going to swing that with Mifflin, but he'd find a way. The guy was itching to get them off this base anyway.

"Thank you. I need to... and I don't know ... I just… Incase, you should and we..." Murdock was stumbling over the words. "In case we don't make it I want to say thank you for always treating me like a man and..." The rest of his words were lost to static.

"Murdock!" Hannibal's gut was twisting listening to last words. "Murdock!" There was nothing but static left that a hard thunk of the receiver against the desk did nothing to fix. Goddamn it! Those two were headed into hell at Mach One with nothing more than a lunatic's smile and the Devil's silver tongue, and there wasn't a damn thing Hannibal could do about it from this piece of foreign dirt.


	23. Chapter 23

Face getting into heroin. It was the last thing that Cruiser expected to hear. Stupid waste of fucking space. It put Cruiser's teeth on edge. Face fucking knew better. The day Hannibal had put him on the team they'd started untangling the mess he'd landed in with Thai. Thai was no third rate drug runner and Face had landed in bed with that motherfucker too. He'd never used though. That was the one redeeming quality Face had back then. Now? Cruiser shook his head as he flipped open his med pack to grab the vials of narcan and a couple syringes for Hannibal. Now it was just a stupid fucking waste.

If Face wanted to do heroin that was his call. Cruiser was just glad it happened stateside instead of while he was here in Vietnam. The last thing any of them needed was to watch that shit. Cruiser had seen it before with his uncle. Dude would disappear for a couple of months and then show back up to get high with his biological dad. Every time. Then aunt Michelle would show up screaming and pissed off and get into it with Uncle Dave and Cruiser's dad until they were all red in the face and Cruiser was scared to death his dad was going to hit someone. But that never happened when Aunt Michelle and Uncle Dave were there. No, that waited until later in the night, after his dad had drank the rest of the day away.

At least his piece of shit dad never bothered to tell anyone he was going to get clean and things would be different.

Zipping his bag closed, Cruiser turned to Hannibal. "This stuff is an opioid antagonist. Your body likes it more than the narcs, so, instant sobriety." He handed everything to Hannibal and took a seat at the rickety table.

"I've never heard of it. Have you used it before?"

"Yeah, I used it once in the MASH on a guy that was hypoxic." Cruiser leaned his elbows on the table. The young medic for the team had given his patient all the morphine he'd had. Fresh out of school, it was all the medic could do to manage the guys pain after a mortar attack. Problem was, morphine took a few minutes to reach peak effect, turned out sixty milligrams of morphine would not only take care of all your pain problems, but it would knock out the respiratory drive of a Rhino. "You can give it two ways. Either in the muscle or mainline it in the vein."

"Mainline best?" Sometimes it was easy to forget that Hannibal was cross trained as a medic. Then he'd remind you with shit like that.

It was a good question, but it boiled down to a judgment call and experience. Hannibal didn't have the experience to make the call. "Depends. How bad do you think it's going to be?"

"I think he's trying to kill himself but the survival instinct won't let him just use a gun." Hannibal took the time to light a cigar. "When I show, he'll try harder."

It was a cold and straight up fact. Hannibal never pulled punches and Face never half assed anything. "If he's bad enough you need to use this shit, you mainline it if you can find a vein. If he's been using for a while though, his veins are going to be all chewed up."

"He'll have been using for a while. Not too long after I cut him loose." For once Hannibal sounded tired. "I should've asked him, but I was too damn sure I was right. I screwed the pooch on that." Hannibal shook his head. "But this, shooting up smack, I never fucking imagined that Face would be so ass headed stupid to do that shit."

Pulling in the smoke, Cruiser let Hannibal talk. Dude had enough on his shoulders, carrying around Face's bullshit on top of it all had Cruiser's teeth grinding. It was the same shit that Cruiser had always seen with drugs though. Pure selfishness. If Face wanted to die with a needle in his arm that was his choice, but to think that it wouldn't affect anyone else, was bullheaded, self centered crap. "You didn't put a needle in his arm." Cruiser watched Hannibal for a long moment. One of the reasons he had Cruiser's respect was that he owned his mistakes. But not all of them were his to shoulder. "How far are you going to fight him on this?"

"I let him go once, I can't make that mistake again." Hannibal took a deep pull off his cigar, studying the smoke trail in the heavy air before adding, "But I think the real question is how far will Murdock go."

"You know Murdock will fight him all the way." Those two had always fought long, hard, and bloody. It was stupid determination they'd all had to break up more than once.

"If I lose one, I lose both." Hannibal met Cruiser with that look that went through him. It was just as haunted as he'd seen when Hannibal had been sending letters home to the mother's and father's of the dead.

It was all the answer Cruiser needed. There would be no midway point on this. If Cruiser was honest, he'd expected nothing less from Hannibal. That was the world he lived in, the rules were simple; Go home or die trying. Smoke wafting between them, Cruiser let it just hang there. "You gonna leave word where you're going to be at the base or some place else?"

"Ad in the LA times. Beta code. I don't want the military anywhere near this."

"We'll send a reply as soon as we land on friendly soil with an ETA." Cruiser and BA be a couple weeks behind Hannibal. Just enough time to wear anyone down to the point where they needed a break.

"I'll be waiting." There was a long pause, both of them smoking. Hannibal wasn't done yet, there was more on his mind. It was just a matter of him getting to it. "Murdock was barely holding on when he left. Seeing Face using, especially heroin, sent him over the edge. It's nothing but pure stubbornness and loyalty that's kept him from exploding yet."

Cruiser had no possible way to fathom how those two would interact. History said poorly, and that was without Murdock bordering on lunacy then and Face being a smackhead. It was too volatile to predict on either end.

"I have the Narcan for Face. Do I have anything for Murdock?"

"To tranq him?" Cruiser didn't hide the surprise. It hadn't been too long ago that they'd been down that road. It wasn't something he wanted to make a habit of, but Hannibal was going to have his hands full. "I can get you versed. Same stuff I gave him last time."

After a long second Hannibal nodded and dropped a hand on Cruiser's shoulder. "Thank you, Daniel."

Cruiser nodded, holding Hannibal's gaze instead of dropping away from it. He was in for a fight and Cruiser knew it. Hannibal knew it too and was charging in full speed ahead. But this time it was a battle operation with a plan and mission specific weapons. "Just don't let Face get into the versed. I'm sure if he's using heroin he knows about benzo's."

"I'm sure Face knows a hell of a lot he won't ever be able to forget."

XXXXX

Stumbling down the street Face could think of nothing more than getting his hands on some heroin. One hit. That was all he needed and the incessant cramping and waves of nausea that had his stomach turning inside out would stop. It would stop, he'd be able to breath again. All with one small hit.

He didn't even want to think about Murdock being out there as he neared Diz's place. Stupid fuck would be lurking around somewhere. Face knew he would, Murdock never left shit alone. Stomach binding, crippling pain was hitting him, letting him know it had been far too long since he'd locked up those memories.

Finally making it up the steps, he barely noticed Leslie's car on the side of the driveway. Of course she would be here. She hadn't been at her place when he had called from jail trying to line up bail. Luckily he hadn't needed it. The Magistrate had thankfully released him on his own recognizance. It was no longer his problem for another six weeks.

Maybe by that time he really would be dead.

Opening his door, Leslie was sitting there on the bed, legs tucked ever so politely under. She looked up from her book as Face went past. She'd want to know what happened and all the nagging questions she could figure out. Face just needed something that would buy him some smack.

"Templeton, you're hurt!" Book forgotten, Leslie was up rushing to him and stopping short. "What happened?"

Hand on the dresser keeping him upright, Face stopped. What was she talking about? Frowning at the attention, Face wasn't quite sure what to do with her. "I'm okay."

"Your lip is swollen and you have a black eye." She took a half step towards him and stopped again, slowly raising her hand to his cheek. "Were you in a fight?" Leslie was looking at him wide eyed.

"Yeah, kind of." He had been. Stupid Murdock always left his mark. "It's nothing." Grabbing her wrist with hands that wouldn't stop trembling, before she could actually touch him, he took a step past the dresser, further into the room, letting her go. "It was yesterday… or the day before… something."

"Templeton, please tell me what's wrong."

"Nothing!" Goddamn she was persistent when she wanted to be. Pulling one of the top drawers out of his dresser, Face let it drop to the floor among the rest of the crap that had wound up there over time. It had to be there. He hadn't remembered it until a few hours after Murdock had been released. Hand fishing in open cavity now, Face felt along the underside of the top of the dresser. It had to be there. Come on. He barely remembered putting it there. "Leslie, I'm fine. There's nothing wrong, I just got into it with some stupid fuck who can't let shit go." Yes! his fingers finally landed on the cool metal of a key that he'd taped up there. Heart pounding in his chest with anticipation, Face could feel the relief already flooding into him. This was going to work.

"Is it your friend, from the army. The one who keeps writing you?"

"He's not my fucking friend!" He didn't bother trying hide the frustration as he pinned her down with his eyes wishing like hell she would just for once understand that.

"Then who is he?"

Her hand went to her neck, to toy with the damn gold cross that she always wore. Except it was gone.

"He's just some idiot that won't leave me alone." Shaking his head, Face let it go, taking a step up onto the sagging mattress and onto the side table. Face ignored the crap that fell to the floor to make room for his feet. Focusing instead on keeping his balance as his guts twisted and ached, protesting this forced sobriety. Face took a deep breath, gritting his teeth and reaching up to the trap door that lead to the crawl space in the ceiling. Pushing the cheap acoustic tile out of his way, Face thought only of that box he'd shoved up here. It had to still be here. Had to.

"What are you doing?"

"Nothing." Face poked his head up through the ceiling. Thank God. There it was. A small locked box and he knew exactly what it held. Reaching for it, Face pulled it close enough to fight the key into the lock and twist it open until he heard the most satisfying click on earth as the lock popped open. Lifting the lid Face grabbed the 1911. Face had locked it up where he couldn't get at it without intent after he'd woke up in a cold sweat, gun in hand, and the safety off. It would be enough to stop the withdrawals. Depending on how good a mood Bones was in, it might be enough to hold him over for a few days. It was glorious.

A sharp wave of nausea reminded him that he needed to get moving before he got even worse. Slipping the gun into the back of his pants, Face jumped back down to the floor.

Leslie grabbed his arm in both hands before he had a chance to move. "What in God's name are you going to do with a gun?"

"Nothing, Leslie." He was too tense, fighting to keep his shit together. The withdrawals were getting to be too much. "I'm not doing a damn thing with it. Just let it go, it's none of your concern."

"Don't! Don't you dare shut me out!" Christ of all the times, she picked now to demand an explanation from him.

"Leave it alone, Leslie!" He ground out through clenched teeth. "It's got nothing to do with you." He was sweating, the cramps in his stomach getting stronger and more persistent. He needed to get out of here. Get straight before it was too late. "Let go of me."

"You're hurt and sick and you want to leave here with a gun! Please don't go. Don't do this. I'm so very scared for you."

He let out a dry laugh that didn't belong in the room. "I'm fine. I'll be back tonight. Now. Let go of me. Please."

"Please, don't go. Stay, pray with me." She had his arm in a death grip. "Please."

For God's sakes. Face twisted his arm out of her grip. "Praying's never done me a damn bit of good." Heading to the door, Face pulled his flannel over the gun that was resting in the small of his back.

She grabbed him again. "No! Please, just stay with me. We can think of something else, do something else." She was talking faster than he'd ever heard her, yammering on a mile a minute, all nonsense. "Please, we can talk about it. Please, please don't go like this. Please, I'm afraid you're going to die." By the time she finished there were tears streaming down her cheeks.

He shoved her backwards, getting her away from him. His forearm landing across her chest, pinning her against the wall as he leaned in closer than he should have and let her see just how dead he was. "I don't give a fuck if I die. I'd eat a Goddamned bullet right now if I could!"

Tears rolled down her cheeks but she didn't stop. "I care. God cares…"

His fist cracked against the plaster next to her head. Some part of his brain registered the flinch and the way she screamed. "Your God can go fuck himself for all I care."

Suddenly his head was snapping to the side, taking the rest of his body with it. Hitting the floor, momentum had him rolling, his vision flashed white, as he finally ending up in with his back against the wall. Spots danced in the edges of his vision, he saw Murdock, come towards him. Goddamn, somehow his hands found what had to be the ground. Instinct had him pushing himself up when a boot hit his chin he fell right back down into a pile.

The world was out of focus, black around the edges, but the threat was still there and had him kicking out where he somehow knew Murdock would be. One leg knocked out from under the lanky pilot and every ounce of strength Face had to wrap himself around Murdock's waist and they were suddenly both on the ground in a heap.

Murdock used the drop to his advantage, rolling them over. Feet planted on the floor, Murdock's head came back, hard. If Face's head hadn't of been turned he would have had a broken nose. As it was his cheek took the brunt of it. It was more than enough force to have him letting go. He was exhausted from the energy he had already spent. It took everything he had to get the world back in focus.

When it finally did, Murdock was standing over him. Face's own gun was in his hand. Something about the look in Murdock's eyes had Face pinned to the floor. That look, even in his drug leached brain, he knew that look. It should have terrified him, he should have been afraid. instead he laughed. Deep and dark and soulless. That look was a relief. "Do it you stupid fuck."

Murdock pulled the trigger. There was nothing but a dry click.

Face's empty laugh echoed off the walls and over Leslie's muffled sobs from the other end of the room. Of course it had to be empty. A few months ago when he'd cared, he'd made sure to unload it. Fuck him. Fuck Murdock. Fuck everything in this God forsaken world. He couldn't even buy a bullet to the head right now.

Something under Murdock's skin shifted and changed. Face couldn't see it, but he could feel it. Just like he felt things crawling under his own skin. Never taking his monster eyes off of Face, Murdock stripped down the gun, pulled the firing pin, swallowed it, and put the gun back together. Putting himself between Leslie and Face, like an animal marking his territory, Murdock tossed the now useless weapon at him. "Get out."

"What the fuck do you expect me to do with a worthless gun?" Oh God, what the hell was he going to do? That gun had been his only shot and Murdock had just fucking swallowed the important part like a tic tac. Face pushed himself up to his feet, grabbing the gun on his way up. "You stupid fucking idiot, do you have any idea what you've done?"

"I disabled your weapon and ensured it wouldn't end up being used to kill someone after you sold it for a hit." The bastard had the balls to stare at him all sorts of empty eyed. "You ain't getting anyone but us killed."

Face was shaking his head. This wasn't happening. "It's all I've got Murdock. Please… just…" What? He couldn't get the firing pin back. His eyes slid closed, hands shaking. Face wasn't sure if it was the cramping and nausea or knowing what his only out was. "Give me some cash or something just don't make me do this."

Murdock stood there, watching him, reading him for a long moment until under the ice, something dark and shadowy made a choice. Grabbing his wallet, Murdock pulled out a twenty, wadded it up and tossed it out the door. "Go."

Face didn't think twice before going for the cash, grabbing it with a sigh of relief. He'd be at Bones' place inside twenty minutes and feeling straight again. The skin crawling, bone deep aches and waves of nausea held at bay. He could could already feel that sharp prick in his and that warmth taking hold of him. His whole body wanted it. Craved it. Couldn't live without it anymore. Face was perfectly fine with that. He'd spend the rest of his days stoned out of his head until there was nothing but deep, quiet blackness.

XXXXX

The second Face was gone, Murdock shut the door to the disgrace of a room that Face called his. It was too much; too familiar, too stupid, too wasteful, too painful. It was Lanie and memories of alleys and beatings and the stench of desperation. It was China and pain and it had Murdock's body shaking and his stomach threatening to return the firing pin he'd put in the one place he knew Face couldn't talk him into giving it back from. Leaning his back against the wall and closing his eyes tight, Murdock almost forgot about the girl. She was still against the opposite wall with a fist sized hole in it, shaking and terrified. He'd seen that look before, he'd even felt it himself. He felt it now. That first time you saw the hollowness for what it really was, in someone you loved. Murdock was going to have to talk to her. No matter what she needed to understand one simple fact. Face wasn't safe.

Face wasn't even Face anymore. Murdock had been too late for that. What was left walking around was just heroin wearing all of the pain and anger that Face couldn't cope with like a pelt. Just like Lanie. No, Murdock wasn't a scared kid trying to protect his sister from the johns and the drugs. He was a man, and he'd made a promise. He needed to live up to that, he needed Face sober long enough to ask, to see if the demon was loose.

He had to try to save Face or they had to die. It was that simple.

A shuddering sob ran through the room, compelling Murdock to open his eyes. The girl was there, hands shaking as tears streamed down her cheeks. "I don't… he…" She looked completely lost, trying to figure out what to think or say. "Templeton is in trouble." It was too quiet. She was still in shock. "He never…" The thought was lost to another sob.

Face was a damn good con.

"My name's Murdock. What's yours?"

It took her a bit but eventually she got herself under control. "Leslie." The shakiness was there in her voice, but the way she stood a little straighter and tried for a deep breath was enough to show him she was working toward her new normal. He smiled a little at that. A spark of fire in her was good and what she needed to do would take a lot of strength on her part. On all of their parts, but he knew what he was getting into. "Murdock." Her eyes narrowed on him. "You're the one that keeps writing."

"Yeah, I'm not real good at quitting."

"I don't know what's wrong with Templeton. I've never seen him like this before." Shaking her head, almost pleading for Murdock to understand that this was not the Faceman she'd grown to know and love. "He just… He won't let me help."

"That ain't him, that's the drugs talking." Murdock made it as blunt and hard as possible. Leslie had all the earmarks of a good, sweet girl, who loved and thought life was full of fairy-tales and goodness.

"Drugs?" Leslie stood there looking at him like he was insane. "Templeton doesn't do drugs. He's a good man. He's just… confused and… and angry."

"He's an addict and all you're seeing is the heroin." Until that stuff was out of his system, Face would become less and less. "Think about it, have you seen him losing weight, caring less about how he looks, marks on his arms, legs, hands, feet? He start losing things, borrowing money?" Murdock didn't need to hear the answers, he knew all too well how it went.

She tried to make words from, refute what he was saying, but Leslie was a smart girl. Lying to her was Face's game, not hers. "Oh my God." Suddenly her look went from baffled to concerned. "He has a gun!" She took a step towards him. "We have to stop him. He's going to get himself killed."

"He's got a useless hunk of metal, I swallowed the part that makes the gun work." Murdock forced his voice into the deep, sure tone that Hannibal used so well: he knew what he was talking about and he needed Leslie to get it too. "Face is gonna take the cash I gave him and get high. When he comes down he'll be back looking for more money."

"But I don't have anything left." Her hand went to her neckline. "I gave him my necklace." He could barely hear her voice. "He couldn't have put that towards drugs." It wasn't said to Murdock, and she didn't believe it herself. "What are you going to do?"

"He's too far gone for me to handle alone." He couldn't hide the sadness that was in his voice admitting that. "I got a friend coming in. I'll get him clean or die trying." It hurt to know which it would be. Death was the only place he and Face hadn't been to.

"I never thought I'd be afraid of him. He was always so nice and caring. Not like any of his friends. But he wouldn't talk to me about what was bothering him. I prayed and prayed that he would find the peace he deserved."

"He can't stop. The Faceman I knew wouldn't of touched the stuff in the first place. He never had a chance of fighting it if he was willing to use." The truth was as bitter as ever.

"Templeton deserves a chance. But I'm not strong enough to give it to him.." She nodded, understanding what he was saying. Working hard to accept it as the truth. "You and your friend know him? From before?"

"He's my best friend." Saying it out loud, like that, in the shitty little room, had Murdock's eyes filling with tears. "I saved his life, he saved my soul." The smell of blood and the feel of mud and rain and jungle sounds threatened to take over. He couldn't do that, not here, not now. "He did, not the junkie he is now, but the real Face."

She was watching him closely, open and nonjudgmental. Just accepting in a way that so few had. No wonder Face had managed to find her. If anyone needed the safety of complete acceptance, it was Face. "Then I think you're his only hope. He has such deep, soulful pain. I can see it in his eyes, but I can't get close enough to touch it."

She took a step towards him. Somehow their roles changed in that moment. Her hand reached out and found his cheek. Light and gentle, so different from they way anyone touched him, reverent almost. Eyes full of concern and understanding of a problem far too dark for her.

"You can't get close. It'll destroy you. Only the damned can go there." They'd all been damned long ago.

"I know that now." There was only peace in her eyes. The one thing Murdock had never know on the ground. "I know what I have to do. Thank you, Mr. Murdock." She tucked her head just slightly, leaning in on her tiptoes, she gave him the softest, most gentle kiss on the cheek he'd ever had. Feather light. the blessing kiss of an angel. "I'll be praying for you all."

It was a true moment of peace, stilling and calming all the noises in his head. It was priceless. No wonder Face gravitated to her. She was peace and forgiveness and goodness; all the things they weren't. Things not of their world. And here she was granting him absolution for the past, understanding and strength to do what he had to in the future.

"Thank you." Simple words could never express how much he meant that. It was a small nod, her hand removed, an understanding smile.

"God has answered my prayers, you're Templeton's hope." The girl was leaving, her back straight and an aura of peace that wasn't there before radiating from her. "Thank you Mr. Murdock, for coming to him and for helping me find my way." She was gone from the room before either of them could say anything else.


	24. Chapter 24

There was only one reason why Face hadn't stuck a gun in his mouth and pulled the trigger; heroin. Instead of eating a bullet Face let the smack work it's magic, lulling him further and further into its warm embrace, letting reality float away. The wind of the road rushing past only added to the disconnect. He wasn't sure who was driving. Someone Marco knew; they'd helped him to the car where he'd sank into a flaccid pile of limbs and let the heroin do it's job. He didn't care anymore, hadn't for a long time.

A weekend of sex and debauchery that had secured his place in the lowest level of hell there was, and all Face wanted was to not feel. None of it was real. The hands on him, pulling and holding him, the smell of sweat and slick bodies, too many to keep track of. It was all mixed with drugs and alcohol until everything felt disconnected and he didn't care.

He could die right now, in the backseat of a strange car with voices that were too far away to mean anything, and it would be with a smile on his face and an eight ball in his arm. It wasn't too long before the motion stopped and hands were on him again.

"Wake up man, time to get the fuck out."

Face was on his feet, balance giving up on him like everything else. His whole body free floating and then gravity flipped on, rolling him on the ground. The cool grass and dew soaked through his shirt. Fuck he was going to have to move. Heavy limbs and unclear thoughts, move arms, move legs. He had to get up. He wasn't quite sure how and fuck it if he cared, he wound up on his feet and stumbling into his room. Everything was a blur, like Rikki Tikki Tavi running circles around him; odd shapes and long shadows in places they didn't belong. Good, he fell onto the bed and let the drugs work their magic, sinking into the mattress and and floating away all at once. Fucking perfect

Something was on him, light, wrapping him up, and something was touching his forehead. Face turned his head, away from the attention. He was supposed to be home. There'd been a car. No one in the world but him. No more Face or anchor to anything. That was the deal.

Far away a voice was singing ... you are my sunshine, my only sunshine you make me happy when skies are gray. No. Why couldn't he get away from it? There was a distant whimper mixed with the words. He couldn't tell what was real anymore. Noises and silence and dark, numb touch he couldn't feel but couldn't get away from; it had him trying to force his eyes open and make sure his nightmares weren't getting too close. It was dark and blurry and still too close. Tears welled up in his eyes and ran down his cheeks, adding to the filth of his life. Singing changed to silence and something from his past ghosted over his cheek wiping the tears away.

"Just sleep." It was the same haunting voice from Sunshine and had him curling in on himself in anguish. "I'll take the punches tonight."

XXXXX

Three nights and three days. That's how long Murdock had stood watch over Face's room. He's made marks so he wouldn't lose track. Three, three three, three three.

The holy trinity. Three was all you need if you want Face to be. Murdock's eyes swept the room again, left then right and left again. Three. See there was a pattern and once you had that you could find a reason, right? There had to be a reason. Life couldn't be this fucked just because.

Hannibal told Murdock to stay away, but he couldn't. There was nothing out there but danger. No Murdock on the streets of LA. That would be bad. Very bad. The noise and people getting mixed with the ghosts. No, he needed to stay here and wait. Three nights and three days and three lives and the three ways it ends. One dead, two dead, everyone dead.

After Leslie left, Murdock knew he had to wait. He'd got three bottles of booze and three cartons of cigarettes and returned to Face's room. It took him hours to go over every inch of it; pot, Valium and some heroin. Three, three, three, the devil and me. Murdock knew what to look for and where to find it. He even knew to take anything that could become a weapon. Drugs could make you do funny things, dangerous things too.

The corner by the dresser was his new zone. Crouching down, he'd taken up his death watch; smoking, drinking and waiting. All three. Three ghost stayed and waited with him. Each in their own corner.

He was the only one who knew. Knew what had happened, what Face was doing for cash, knew what happened when you became a thing, knew what it was like to forget. For Face and Lanie forgetting was a relief, and escape. For Murdock forgetting meant letting his guard down and the monsters out.

When they got out it took a blood sacrifice to get them back. A lot of blood. The only thing more terrifying than the monsters in his head was the monsters unleashed. He couldn't keep them in when he was high. He needed control, he needed Hannibal, he needed Face. Three three three.

Without one there was none.

Minutes, hours, days. All lost and twisted, shadows moved, cigarettes burned out, bottles emptied and in the corners they stayed. Waiting. Who would show first? Did it matter?

Fake Face stumbled in, too high to turn on the light, too high to notice the killer in the room. Back exposed, defenseless he dropped to the bed. Facey knew better. He'd let heroin take his will and soul and now it was going for his life.

It was wrong.

He was standing over Face. It would be so easy; one pull of the trigger, one thrust of the knife, and Murdock could end it. Set Face free from the pain forever. He'd made the promise and he'd keep it. He'd do anything for Face. But he'd promised Hannibal he'd wait . . . and seeing Face cold and crying in his sleep had Murdock moving. Poor Face, even heroin had abandoned him.

Murdock pulled the blanket up, an old song filling the room, sending more tears and he was talking saying words that would never be heard to a friend who was just as dead as him. Murdock put a shaking hand on Face's head and rested his forehead against Face's. "Just sleep. I'll take the punches for tonight."

Face moved away from the touch, letting out a low, garbled, string of words that were too high to understand. Murdock didn't need to hear the words. Face reeked of sex, drugs, and despair. Like the back alleys Murdock knew so well as a kid. Trace laughed when Murdock backed away, shaking his head. No more no, no. Done, stop, quit. Hand shaking, Murdock struggled to light a cigarette. No, no, no, threes filled the need. Smoke, drink, watch. Smoke, drink, watch. Hang on, just a bit longer. Hannibal was on his way. God help them all.

XXXXX

It was a slow intrusion of reality. Little noises slipping in, demanding more of his attention, like the deeper breathes that made his chest rise noticeably more, oxygen in his blood, in his head, feeding his brain. He'd lived through it again. Pain was a tell tale sign of life. So was the discomfort in his back making him stir, but there was no getting comfortable. He was sore in ways he'd never imagined from things he'd never imagined. Deep muscles made themselves known when he moved. Eventually it forced him to accept that he wasn't sleeping anymore of the day away. At least not without some help. It was the same old story Face had lived a thousand times over. A new day that same old fucking world. Shaking his head to himself, Face finally forced his eyes to blink themselves open and stay that way. Daylight. Just another maker that he had another day to get through.

Finally sitting upright on the edge of his bed, Face focused on trying to find a way to make his body stop hurting. But no matter what he did, the deep aches and pains were there. He reached over to the dresser for the pipe that was there, only it wasn't. Neither was the baggie of weed that was supposed to be in the drawer, or his fucking lighter. Face slammed the drawer shut. Stupid fucking Murdock. He pulled the second drawer open and found nothing in there too. Fuck! Hand going through his hair, Face spun around and started towards the bathroom. There would be a stash in there. Nothing good, but enough to dull the edges of reality - until he saw it, there in the corner of the room was fucking Murdock, the asshole himself, crouched down in the corner like a ghoul.

The bastard didn't say a word. Fucked up smile on his face, smoke dangling from his lips, Murdock stood up, looking like a fucking vulture spreading his wings.

"What the fuck are you doing here?" Face didn't even bother trying for the drugs. Murdock would have flushed them and he knew it. It made his teeth set on edge.

"I told you already, I'm here cause I need to talk to Face."

"Get lost." Face took another step towards the bathroom. Murdock could take all the drugs he wanted to, it didn't change what he had in his pockets. "I told you I'm not interested in this shit."

"You ain't Face, you're just the thing wearing his skin." Fucker followed him.

Face spun around, teeth clenched. "Who the fuck cares, I ain't buying your lines."

"H. mother fucking M. Mother Fucking Murdock cares and I ain't selling shit to you."

"See that's where you're wrong you stupid fuck. Everyone's selling lines and I'm sick of it. You. Hannibal. The priests, the fucking penguins I grew up with. I'm done. I don't fucking need it."

"Nah, you need drugs. You need to feel high to let go and forget. But it aint working so well anymore is it? Needin' more and more and having less and less. Letting them take, so you can get. Do they at least let you get high first? Or do they like to watch you see how low you can go?"

Face shoved him backwards, cutting off the words and taking a quick step towards Murdock, swinging. The asshole was faster though, blocking the blow and shoving him, sending Face backwards 'til he hit the bed and dropped.

"Sell the bullshit justifications to someone else. I'm here to talk to Face, not you."

"Get out of my fucking life!" Face shoved himself back up off the bed. Stupid fuck knew he was better in a fight.

"Nope." Asshole smiled. "I'm staying till I can talk to Face."

Shaking his head, Face glared at Murdock. There was nothing else he could do. The idiot wouldn't leave, and wouldn't listen, Face wasn't going to call the cops to have him removed. He was like a fucking tick. He wanted to talk to Face, he could hold his breath until he died waiting for that to happen. Face shoved past him, moving towards the bathroom. Murdock could fucking wait in the bedroom. Slamming the door shut, Face grabbed the edges of the sink and took a deep breath.

Murdock had cleaned out the bathroom, even taken the mirror off the wall. It figured. Dude never could leave shit alone. No matter how much he wasn't wanted. Face was going to have to leave town to get rid of this monkey on his back. Sitting down on the closed lid of the toilet, Face pulled a dimebag out of his pocket. Thanks to Mr. Straight and Narrow, he didn't have any needles on him to shoot it up. Tapping some of the powder out onto the back of his thumb, Face pressed a nostril closed and inhaled the smack. It was as good as his high was going to get. Nowhere near as good as shooting. Face took a second round, it ought to make up or the slow burn into heroin heaven.

Reaching over, Face turned the faucet to the shower on and waited for that warm high to wrap him up again. It sure as hell wouldn't make him clean again.


	25. Chapter 25

Hannibal Smith had once gone on a mission that had required him to crawl through three foot high grass, mud, and stinging insects, for four days. Ninety-sixhours passing undetected through an enemy camp, Vietcong so close that he could see their socks, and never once had his mind strayed from the task.

Hannibal didn't lose focus.

Until now.

The plane ride from Vietnam had taxed even Hannibal's patience. Things needed done. He had a team to save. His men were in trouble and instead of acting to right the wrongs and fix what was broken he was sitting, stagnant thirty thousand feet in the air.

Murdock said Face was holed up some place a few blocks from the campus. The way it sounded, Hannibal wouldn't be able to mistake it for anything but the filthy drug house it was. Turned out Murdock was right. In a neighborhood of college housing, the overgrown lawn, strewn with garbage and a rusted out VW Bug caught his attention like the sore thumb it was. So did the suspicious eyes and quickly fleeing college students at the sight of a uniform. Let them run, Hannibal hadn't changed and didn't really give a shit if he blended in or not right now.

Half dead bodies and wasted lives littered the house from front to back. Kids with glazed over eyes, passing around pipes, and too stoned to figure out the stranger walking through didn't belong. Hannibal found the first person who looked halfway aware of their surroundings and crouched down. "Where's Templeton Peck?"

The kid giggled like Hannibal had told the best knock knock joke ever. Hannibal didn't have the patience or the time. Grabbing the kid by the front of his dirty tee shirt, Hannibal slapped the kid across the cheek. It was a testament to his control that he didn't hit him hard enough to break anything, keeping it just hard enough to demonstrate his lack of patience.

"Hey man, what the fuck!"

"Good." Hannibal didn't let him go. "Now that I have your attention, I need to know where Templeton Peck is."

"He.. uh… who?"

"Templeton." Hannibal spelled it out. "Peck."

"Templeton… Temp… oh you mean Killer."

"Killer." Hannibal nodded, smiling like the kid was finally figuring out the information. "Right. Now where is he?"

"I haven't seen him in a few days, but his room is in the back on the left." He leaned in towards Hannibal like he was going to share a secret. "Dude knows how to party."

"So I've heard." Letting the kid sag back against the wall, Hannibal pushed himself back up and made his way down the old hallways until he found the last door in the back on the left. Hannibal stood at the door, deadly silent and listening. Murdock would be inside and maybe Face. The way those two fought, he could be walking into anything and he wasn't in the mood for surprises. After a solid minute of absolute silence from inside the room, Hannibal opened the door to be greeted by darkness. Shades drawn, only small ribbons of sunlight filtered through to a smoke filled room stinking of stale cigarettes and stagnant air rife with sweat and rank odors.

Beside the old dresser, dead between Hannibal and what appeared to be a doorless bathroom, was Murdock It wasn't the smell that got to Hannibal. He'd dealt with far worse. It wasn't the dirt or the misery in the tiny room that hit him in the gut like a sledge hammer. No. What had Hannibal stopping, what really got him was the image of his Lieutenant crouched in the corner, surrounded by empty bottles, crumpled cigarette packs, and dirty clothes. There he was staring at Hannibal without a hint of humanity in his eyes.

Hannibal gave it a minute. He'd seen men on the edge before and most of them looked more lucid than Murdock did. It hadn't been that long and his ace pilot had lost weight he couldn't afford to lose. His cheeks sunken in under the facial hair and deep, dark circles under his eyes. How long had it been since he'd showered or eaten? If Murdock looked this bad how bad did Face look? "Lieutenant." Hannibal finally said, making sure Murdock realized he was no longer alone.

Two long, slow blinks and an eerily slow head turn had Murdock looking at him. Cigarette lit and dangling from his lips, Murdock didn't say anything. His expression was as flat as the peeling walls of Face's shitty room. The silence stretched on, broken only by the steady drip of a leaking faucet from the bathroom.

Shutting the door behind him, Hannibal took a slow step towards Murdock, crouching down so that he was eye to eye with his pilot. "Murdock, it's Hannibal, I made it here."

"I waited."

Nodding, Hannibal let Murdock know visually that he understood. "I knew you would." He let that settle with Murdock, seeing the dark eyes get slightly clearer with each exchange. "How are you doing?"

"I've done all the three's. It's got to be three, Real Face, Real Hannibal, and It. Three. It's the only way it works." Murdock took a drag off his cigarette and crushed it out in an overflowing hubcap that was acting as an ashtray, eyes never leaving Hannibal's. "Get in a corner like the others. I gotta wait for Real Hannibal."

It was worse that anything Hannibal had imagined. Face was doing heroin and Murdock had officially lost his mind. Carefully; measured and slow, Hannibal put it as plain and simple as he could. "Murdock, I'm real." He waited, then slowly reached out and touched Murdock's shoulder. "It's really me and we need to save Face." Face always focused Murdock. It gave his mind something to work towards.

Something flickered and Murdock was grabbing Hannibal's shoulder. "I tried so hard, but I can't find him anymore."

"You can't find Face anymore?" There was more to it, nothing Murdock was saying made any sense, there were layers of crazy that needed to be peeled back until reality was found.

"No. All I can find is heroin. Can't get past it to Real Face."

Okay, so Heroin Face and Real Face were two different people for Murdock. Hannibal could see the logic in that. "Do you know where Heroin Face is?"

"In the tub. High."

Hannibal leaned forward a bit, cranking his head to peer further into the bathroom. Sure enough, there in the tub might as well have been a body. He resisted the urge to go check for a pulse. The fact that Murdock was out here standing guard meant Face was alive under it all.

"Thought I got everything, but he musta been holding some. Can't stay that high that long. Went through his clothes." Murdock choked out the last word.

"So this is his last high." It was more to himself, but voicing his thoughts would help Murdock. Looking back at his lieutenant, Hannibal held his gaze. "I need to ask you something Murdock, and I need a straight answer."

"I never lie to Hannibal."

"I know it, kid. But you're struggling right now, I need to know your solid." It wasn't an insult and Murdock would know it. "Can you handle what needs to be done to sober Face up?"

To his surprise Murdock giggled. "I been sobering people up my whole life. I can do it in my dreams." For the first time since he'd arrived Murdock closed his eyes. Just like that he was looking at Hannibal, clearer this time. "I can do it. I have to."

"Is he going to wake up?"

"Not anytime soon. But I can get him up if you want."

"How long has it been since you've eaten?"

"I don't know."

"Alright, we need to get you some food. Then we can deal with waking Face up." Hannibal was going to have some leg work to do. They couldn't stay here to sober him up.

Murdock shook his head. "I can't go out there. No, no way, sir. Ain't safe."

"I know." Hannibal reassured. "I need to make a couple phone calls, figure out where to drag him for the next few weeks."

"Gotta be some place he can't run from, and where no one can hear the screams."

"Yeah." Hannibal tossed that around. It had been a while but an old friend from his West Point days had a cabin at Lake Isabelle. It was worth the quarter a phone call would take.

"There's a motel three blocks over. Give Jack, the guy at the desk, a twenty and he'll turn the phone on in your room."

"Appreciate that Murdock, but a payphone will do. Will you be good for about an hour?"

"I'm good for three."

He wasn't quite sure how to direct that, but Murdock would hold himself together and Face, from the looks of it, would be high for another few hours. "Can you have Face's stuff packed up and ready to go by the time I get back? We'll get everything in the car before waking him up. God knows he won't make it easy." Kid never did.

"Anything worth keepin' is already packed." Murdock nodded at the half full duffel bag at the end of Face's mattress. "The rest of it can be burned."

"Alright, when I get back, you eat and then we wake Sleeping Beauty up." Hannibal pushed himself back up to his feet. "Then he can deal with a whole new reality." Hannibal took the few steps to the door and looked back at Murdock, giving him a chance to say anything else he may need to. When he didn't, Hannibal closed the door behind him and made his way back out through the house littered with misspent youth he'd seen so many men die to protect. He didn't have time to focus on that. Murdock needed food, they needed supplies for a road trip with a pissed off drug addict, and Hannibal needed to find a phone before anything else.

XXXXX

BA pointed at the large wrench in the lineup of tools on the ground. Right on cue there was a chorus of "wrench!" and a small squabble in Vietnamese over who got to hand him the tool. Not surprisingly it was Koala who won. The little girl from the village had bounced back with the resolve that only kids seemed to have. She'd earned her nickname because she had a penchant for climbing up Cruiser and holding on tight in a one armed hug. No amount of grousing and grumbling on Cruiser's part could stop her, not that he really wanted to. But the dude functioned better on insults and vinegar than anything else.

Holding out his hand, BA accepted the tool with all the seriousness it presented. "Thank you."

"You welcome!" The entire group answered, even Lily, the smallest and shyest of the lot tried to work around the English words. Good. At least the kids could learn while they healed. Very aware of who was watching, BA went back to working on the piping. Slower than he would normally go, but just the right speed for kids to follow. Besides, at the rate he was going with requisitioning material they would be out of supplies well before he got the child size showers put together and working. They had more need than goods and more heart than skill.

Where was Face when you needed him? They needed beds and tents and toys and clothes and books and homes; safe homes for these kids. Face could have found all those things in his less than legal way, in no time flat. But no, instead of helping the fool kid had went and got himself screwed up with drugs. Murdock had lost himself when he lost Face and now Hannibal was off trying to keep both of 'em in one piece.

Too bad that was one piece for two people.

Locking the pipe down as tight as he could, BA was about to ask for the file when he saw Mifflin headed their way. He wasn't alone. Picking her way through the mud like cat caught in a downpour was a blond lady who looked like she belong on the cover of Elite Rich White Woman's Daily.

Mifflin was the kinda dude BA usually enjoyed punching. And did. But last week he'd caught the guy handing out candy bars to the kids and a few days ago Cruiser had heard him reading Peter Cotton Tail to them. That bought him some time in BA's book. Setting down the pipe, BA straightened up from his crouched position, folding his arms over his chest. Whatever was going on he'd find out soon enough.

He wasn't surprised when Cruiser stopped his wound checks to join him. The man was an over protective mother hen when it came to the kids. For a guy who would fight a tree for dropping leaves, Cruiser had a deep reserve of patience for kids. That was one of the reasons BA respected him so much.

Cruiser shouldered up to BA, settling in next to him against the plywood wall. The two of them together creating a barrier between Mifflin and the woman and the kids. "What do you think Mifflin's doing with Cruella Deville?"

"Don't look like she here for fun." She was out of place for sure. Before Cruiser could answer, Mifflin was in front of him, looking expectantly for a salute.

Normally BA would let him keep waiting, except BA had made a promise to Hannibal and Mifflin had given Lily that doll. Only snarling a little, BA gave a salute. He didn't bother looking to see of Cruiser did. Even on good behavior, it wasn't going to happen.

Mifflin returned the salute and surprisingly ignored Cruiser's insubordination. "Sergeants, we have a visitor. Bunny Schrowder, allow me to introduce Sergeant Daniel Stone and Sergeant BA Baracus."

If she was shocked by their lack of accepting her offered hand, she covered it quickly. For real, they had work to do, they didn't have time to play meet the Queen and BA was covered in dirt and grime. Cruiser had been changing bandages, and for all his quirks, the guy had a thing about germs.

"Where is your commander?" BA looked at Cruiser. What was she yammering about? Mifflin was their commander. "John Smith." She said the name slowly, like they might have trouble understanding. You know, being from the enlisted slums and all.

"I'm sorry ma'am, he is stateside on emergency leave." Mifflin's words had her perfect smile dropping. Cruiser shot BA and confused and somehow amused glance. It was a good thing the man was obligated to good behavior.

Before she could start crying or something Mifflin added "Your charity has a lot of resources Ms. Schrowder, these... gentleman here could better explain some of what is needed." Mifflin looked like he'd swallowed a bug when he called them gentleman. If he was willing to do that then, blondie girl must of had a lot of money to throw around. Money these kids needed.

Cruiser's eyes narrowed on Mifflin. He wasn't someone that they would normally take the word of when it came to vouching for a person.

"We don't usually work internationally, but Daddy said there was potential to broaden the scope of our work here." Bunny sounded like her old man made her memorize that. "But we usually work on raising funds for underprivileged children, so I'm not sure how that could help the war effort."

"Well if you have funds at your discretion, there's a plethora of things to spend it on here." Only Cruiser could take an otherwise well constructed sentence and make it sound like a troll had a said it. Koala didn't let adults talking interfere with her squeezing through the small gap in their legs that had been keeping the kids behind them and climbing right up Cruiser without missing a step. A foot in his trouser pocket, a hand in his shirt pocket, and a toe catching his belt just enough to steady her.

"My heavens, there's a child here!" Man, who even said stuff like that?

"Koala here is one of the reasons I contacted your father. We have a group of children that need more help then the Army can provide." Bunny's eyes widened and flicker back and forth between Mifflin, the girl, and the other kids who were slowly peeking out from behind Cruiser and BA.

"What happened? How did they end up here?"

"We gave 'em vaccines. Their medicine man told 'em they possessed, they can't go home." BA answered before Cruiser could. Best behavior only went so far.

"He took a machete to their arms." It was as controlled and diffuse as BA had heard Cruiser talk about it. "They can't stay here."

Bunny's gloved hand went to her mouth "But they're just babies. What about their parents?"

"They the one's who held 'em down." The truth was hard, but she needed to hear it. More people needed to know about the crazy that went on here. Then maybe they could stop it.

Bunny looked like she was gonna cry, and maybe she woulda except for Koala letting go of Cruiser's neck to point her dirty hand at Bunny and chatter excitedly. Cruiser gave her a bounce, smiling as she warmed up to Bunny.

"What? What is she saying?" Bunny managed to ask.

"She likes your hair." It was the simple truth brought to you by the innocence of a child.

"Never seen no blond woman 'for." BA knew what it was like to have the open pointing and stares. Bunny didn't.

"Oh." He didn't expect Bunny to pull the bobby pins from her hat and bend closer to the girl, offering her an up close inspection. "It's not as lovely as yours, but you can touch it if you want."

Giggling, Koala leaned forward on Cruiser and took a handful of hair, twisting and turning and watching the hair reflecting white in the sun. Not satisfied just to look, she held it close to her face and inhaled, eyes going wide, she turned and said in very slow English, "Pretty."

"Yeah." Cruiser gave Koala a big smile, assuring her that she had used the English word correctly.

Beaming at him she held her prized find up to his nose. "You! you!" She bounced excitedly after each you.

He looked at the little girl skeptically, watching her as he took a big inhale and wrinkled his nose. "Ew, it smells like shampoo!" His lip curled like he'd said rotten cheese and laughed at Koala.

"You bad!" She stuck her tongue out at him. "Pretty!"

"Alright, I stand corrected." he conceded.

Bunny's laugh was unexpected and light, almost out of place, but somehow just right. Before anyone could stop her, Koala dropped her handful of hair and grabbed Bunny's dress. BA wasn't a dry cleaner, but he knew grease and mud were gonna stain her Got to be Expensive Dress.

"Pretty!" Koala looked happily at Cruiser "You! You!"

"Ah no." Cruiser shook his head just a bit. "I don't have enough cute to get away with that without a list of charges getting thrown my way."

"I'm very sorry Ms. Schrowder, the Army will pay for the dress. Just please consider the age and plight of the-"

"Please, call me Bunny," She cut Mifflin off. "And it's just a dress. No harm, no foul." Hair a mess and being mauled by a child, Bunny sounded like she was having high tea. "Now tell me, why won't local charities help?"

"Because the children are Montagnard, the minority people. The Vietnamese consider them to be worthless. Customs, social norms, years of fighting, civil wars, the history here is too complicated to wrap up succinctly. But suffice to say, there is no place in Asia that is safe for them." Mifflin was talking to her, but smiling at the boy who was inching closer, looking for candy.

"Charities here cater to their own kind." Cruiser left it at that.

"Yeah, they look wrong and talk wrong to get help here." BA let the irony in that speak for itself.

Legs still wrapped around Cruiser, Koala launched herself at Bunny. Before he could catch her, her greasy, muddy arms were encircling Bunny's neck and she was giggling as she inspected the sparkling diamond earrings with a big "Ooh."

BA had seen a lot of thing in Vietnam. Life, death, heartache, and blood, but this was the first time he'd seen someone fall in love. He couldn't say exactly what it was, but when Bunny wrapped her arms around the little girl, BA knew. She was holding that girl the same way his momma held him.

"Ms… I mean Bunny." Mifflin corrected. "The truth is we can't get anyone to help these children."

She was still smiling at the girl now fully in her arms and off of Cruiser, but much to his surprise a look of pure hard steel radiated off of the woman named Bunny. "Well, we'll just see about that."

BA looked over at Cruiser, a silent exchange that lacked any protest, before glancing between Mifflin and Bunny. Seems they had a new, unlikely ally.

XXXXX

It was all a blur for Hannibal. A phone call to arrange the cabin, an old friend who was more than happy to help no questions asked. A trip to the store for supplies. Water, a bottle of aspirin for the headache he was getting, and some rope. He hoped like hell he wouldn't have to use it, but Face had never made things easy and Hannibal would bet money that he would not agree to walk out of that house under his own power and take a seat in the car like a good little soldier. No. Hannibal would guess the very opposite, and while he hated the idea of tying him up, Face would get sober one way or the other. His last stop had been for food. For Murdock, and then while ordering Hannibal had realized he hadn't eaten for too long also.

When Hannibal had made it back to the room, Murdock hadn't moved from the corner, nor Face from the tub. It was eerily as though he'd left it forty-five minutes ago. He'd set the food down on the sagging mattress and grabbed the two bags that Murdock had set up there. Taking them back to the car, he tossed them in the trunk with the rest of the supplies and headed back through the house to Face's room. Not even in his younger years had Hannibal seen a frat house look like this. Even the whore houses scattered through Asia bothered to clean up after themselves. Hannibal ignored the whole thing. No one he cared about was going to live like this if he had anything to say about it.

Sitting down on the bed, Hannibal grabbed the bags of Captain Belly Buster burgers and pulled one out. "Come on Lieutenant, we've got to eat so we can deal with Sleeping Beauty back there."

Murdock didn't move. For a minute Hannibal thought maybe he hadn't heard him. Until Murdock flicked his eyes to the bag and then Hannibal. "You first."

"Alright." Hannibal watched Murdock closely as he unwrapped the burger and took a bite. Distrust from Murdock was new and not a welcome change or a step in the right direction.

Murdock was eyeing up the burger like a hungry dog looking at a T-bone. He started to move and stopped, half hovering trying to stare right through him. "How do I know you're Hannibal? Last guy said he was but then he left."

That had Hannibal putting his burger down. "Murdock I want you to listen closely to me. I'm Hannibal. Lieutenant Colonel John Hannibal Smith, you're my chopper pilot in Vietnam, you were my right hand man in China, and I got here an hour ago after you called from jail to help Face. I told you I was going to get supplies and food, and I did. I know this is a lot and your coming unhinged, but I need you to know I'm real right here, right now."

Something, maybe the words or tone or memories got through. Hannibal could see the change in the man like a switch being thrown. Things shifting and clicking through the landmines in his head.

"Please don't leave colonel. I can't do it on my own this time."

Something broke inside of Hannibal. There was too much history that Murdock was reliving. Forgetting about the burger, Hannibal stood up and took a step towards Murdock. The man was hanging on by a thread. Both of his hands going to the sides of Murdock's head, Hannibal stood there looking at deep, lost brown eyes. "Nobody is going through this on their own, Murdock."

Murdock put his hands over Hannibal's, holding them tighter to his head, like he needed them to keep him upright. Eyes shutting tight, Murdock fought an internal battle, wrestling his own demons. Without warning Murdock was grabbing and pulling Hannibal into a tight hug. "I'm glad to see you, sir." As quick as he started he pushed back running his hand down his shirt. "What do you need me to do?"

It was all so fast that had Hannibal not spent his life living a moment at a time it would have made his head spin. Instead, he took it for what it was. Murdock was handing over watch to his CO. "Eat, Murdock. I need you to eat."

Murdock nodded and tore into his greasy burger with the zeal of a starving man. Then again he was. By the time Hannibal finished his burger, Murdock was on his second.

He wanted a cigar and some scotch, something to help him filter out what needed to happen and how. A long term plan. Hannibal didn't have that luxury. It was time to see just what Face had done to himself. Leaving Murdock to finish his meal, Hannibal headed into the bathroom and took a seat on the closed toilet.

Murdock had told him Face was in bad shape, but words didn't do it justice. He wasn't prepared him for just how bad bad could be. A few months ago Hannibal had sent a capable man that never had a shot at a normal life, back to the states for his chance. That man was gone. If Hannibal hadn't seen so many dead bodies before, he may have thought that Face was one himself. It was so far from what Hannibal had thought he'd been sending Face to it wasn't even funny. It was disgusting, a mockery of everything Face could have been. Instead he was wasting away in a dirty cast iron tub that hadn't been scrubbed in years. It had Hannibal's jaw tightening, refusing to accept that this, this absolute destitute, hit to hit life was what Face truly wanted.

No. Hannibal remembered a bright kid that had a larcenous tendency to get in over his head. But it was always done with panache and an exuberance that had caught Hannibal's attention and begged to be molded into a worthwhile cause.

Turning his attention back to the present, Hannibal shook his head at the whole thing. Every once in awhile, far less frequently than he should have, the kid's chest would rise as he took in a raspy breath. Hannibal knelt down at the side of tub. The boy was in his boxers and Tee shirt, scratches, bite marks, and bruises mixed with track marks, old and new littered his body. There was no water left in the tub, just condensation and the sad remains of one of the most charming, charismatic pain in the asses Hannibal ever had the pleasure of working with.

"Jesus Christ, kid." he mumbled. "What in the hell have you done to yourself?"

Stupid. So damn stupid. Hannibal shoved those thoughts away. He didn't have time to deal with them right now. This – his doped up, filthy, malnourished, and dehydrated sergeant who was so stoned out of his fucking mind, that he couldn't be bothered to take a breath often enough to avoid a lovely shade of blue setting in around his lips –needed to be dealt with.

It was time to save his man.

Hannibal wasn't sure just how high Face was, it had to have been a few hours since he used last, and even though he was wasted, Hannibal didn't want to start this off swinging. Hand hovering near Face's wrist, just short of touching him, Hannibal took the path of least resistance. He sure as hell would have all the resistance a pissed of Face could dish out in short order.

"Time to wake up, Sergeant."

Face managed half a head lull, eyes fluttering but never opening before he settled back into the high.

"Let's go, Sergeant" Hannibal let his voice echo off the porcelain, and added a brisk rub of his knuckles into Face's sternum. He was startled to feel the familiar lines of dog tags under Face's shirt. It was the last thing he'd expected, and it had him looking harder, trying to find Murdock's "Real Face".

Face started at the contact, suddenly awake and flailing in panic and fear. Hannibal pinned his wrist to the tub before he could swing, but it was more like a scared child swatting at the Boogie Man then the trained fighting machine Face had been. Unable to beat Hannibal back, Face pulled back as far as the tub would allow and curled into the wall away from Hannibal. "Jesus Christ."

"He ain't here right now either." Murdock was behind Hannibal, speaking in odd flat tones. "Ain't a good idea to touch him right now." It was a sad statement made worse by the fact that it wasn't sad.

"We need to move him."

"It thinks you're one of them."

"One of who?" Hannibal was keeping an eye on Face while talking to Murdock.

Slowly, Face uncurled from himself, uneasy and distrusting eyes focused on them. "What the fuck?"

Murdock was the one who answered. "No fuck, just time to go Peck. Come on, wakey wakey."

There was a delay with how fast Face seemed to be processing things. For a moment Hannibal thought he might not fight, instead running a hand back through his too long hair, getting it out of his eyes. "I'm not going anywhere." Turning to Hannibal, Face just frowned like things weren't making sense. "What are you doing here?"

"Come to get my man out of trouble."

"Yeah?" Face pushed himself up in the tub. "Well you came to the wrong place."

"Doped to the gills moron, no cash, no promise, no hope. Nah, old Hannibal here hit the mark. Definitely X marks the spot." Murdock had lost the insane edge, in it's place was anger.

"Fuck off." Face sneered at Murdock and took a step out of the tub, determined to leave the bathroom and the both of them behind.

Hannibal went to grab him, but Murdock shifted, blocking Hannibal from making contact and Face from getting past. "Already told you no."

Face looked like a cornered animal, jaw tight and eyes getting frantic and desperate. "Move."

"Enough." Hannibal stood up and put every ounce of his considerable command into that one word. "You're coming to spend a few days with us. You can either walk out of here, or we carry you out. Your call Sergeant."

"I'm not going anywhere with you."

Hannibal didn't answer. Even high as hell, Face would fight to the death. It was easy enough to avoid that. "Excuse me, Murdock." Murdock turned just enough to give Hannibal all the room he needed to hit Face with a solid left hook. Hard enough to have the kid crumbling. He would have bounced off the side if the tub if Murdock hadn't caught him.  
"Yup, you're the real Hannibal alright."

"The one and only." Half stepping into the tub, Hannibal took one of Face's arms and dropped it over his shoulder, Murdock did the same with the other. "Let's get Sleeping Beauty to his new place before he wakes up and charms us some more."

"Yes, sir."

No one so much as looked up at them, as they dragged an unconscious Face out of his room and through the middle of party central. Out cold must of been old hat in a place like this. Murdock and he managed to weave their way through the haze of dope and questionable music, and without so much as a goodbye, Face was in the back seat of the car with Murdock, Hannibal behind the wheel. "That's one hell of a good group of friends you have, kid."

With the turn of the key, Hannibal shifted the car into drive and started for a place where nobody would be able to hear Face scream.


	26. Chapter 26

It had been, without a doubt the longest car ride in Hannibal's life. The trip had started in blessed silence. Then Face woke up. The threats and fuck you's and half assed, too weak to put up a real struggle attempts at getting out and running gave way to vomiting, sweating, shaking, nauseating misery that was withdrawal. He'd seen it once and hoped to god to never see it again. Face had bought him another round.

The only thing Hannibal could do was keep driving. It was Murdock who was left in the back dealing with a desperate junkie who was willing to do anything to score. Face was a con, he should have been able to get one past easy going Murdock. Except all the smooth, suave, sell ice to an Eskimo without breaking a sweat, had been stripped down to a desperate need for drugs. One of the few things that Murdock had no give for.

Of everything Face could have gotten into, all the over the top scams and games, drugs were the one guaranteed to go straight to that ice cold core of rage that Murdock had buried under thick layers of over the edge laughter and stunts. When it came right down to it, Murdock was the angriest man Hannibal had ever met. Hannibal had divided his attention between the road and keeping an eye the all too combustible pair in the back.

Hannibal hadn't been surprised in the least that they had gotten arrested for beating the shit out of each other. No he expected it; Murdock and Face fought just as hard as they got along. What surprised him was the looks Murdock gave Face; not the ones full of rage, but the ones that left the pilot looking haunted and sad. Like a terrified twelve year old boy, living in the streets again. It was a one sided version of the nonverbal conversations Face and Murdock had been so good at.

It made Hannibal's stomach clench.

That look made it crystal clear things were even more fucked up than Hannibal knew. Murdock was keeping something back. But he was the one who had spent a childhood drying out everyone that was supposed to love him, only to have his best friend take a high dive into the same festering pool of misery. Hannibal didn't need to push it. Not yet. Not when Murdock was hanging on by a barely there string just to keep Face alive.

As sickening as it was to see the barely living, skeletal remains of Face, Hannibal could deal with that. There was a plan for that. Get Face away, get him sober, keep him that way. But the details? The levels Face would go, the when he could be trusted, the what truly needed to be done. . . that was on Murdock. A kid who was too broken to make it on his own. Because Hannibal didn't have the knowhow.

There wasn't a god damned thing Hannibal could do to fix things. Not Face. Not Murdock. The only thing he knew was the only hope they had was keeping those two together. It was a mess. A used up junkie and a section eight in the making, and Hannibal's decision had helped create all of it.

Taking a puff of his sub par cigar, Hannibal leaned back against the wall and watched Face heave while Murdock went to work. As soon as they'd dragged Face into the cabin Murdock had gone to the bathroom. Hannibal could hear the opening of cabinets and drawers. A few moments later Murdock had everything from the mouth wash to the razors in a bag that he threw out side. Anything Face could use to get high, drunk or dead was trash.

"We need to get him in the shower." There was no hint of the laughing mania in Murdock's order.

Hannibal snuffed out his cigar in the ashtray, managing not to bristle. He wasn't used to taking orders from his men, but in this time and place, he wasn't in charge.

Face was still on the ground where the latest round of dry heaves and muscle cramps had left him. Sweating, eyes closed against the world, he was as miserable as any man Hannibal had ever seen.

"Upsy Daisy Mazy, Time to wash the stink off." Murdock reached down and grabbed Face's upper arm, ignoring the groan, and lifted Face.

"Get off me." It was a shaky protest as his head lulled back, too weak to support himself.

"Sure, after you stop smellin' like vomit, I'll let you go."

Hannibal grabbed Face's other arm, the way his hand almost encircled it was just a reminder as to why they were there. The muttered curses didn't stop them from getting him into the bathroom. Neither did the weak pulls or threats.

"Fuck." Face shook his head, trying to dig his heels into the floor again and pull back. "Leave me alone!"

"Nope. You gonna get your shirt off or do I have to?"

Face tried in vain to get out of their grip. "Fuck you Murdock! Get. Off. Me!"

"Look at that, the hard way. Gotta say I'm shocked, bet old Hannibal here is too." Shaking his head, Murdock used his free hand to turn the shower on.

Hannibal had had more fun at the dental office than this. The three of them just managed to fit in the space between the sink and the tub. A wrestling match with Face, no matter how thin he was, wasn't going to be easy. There was one thing he could always count on with Face, high, stone-cold sober, or dog-sick, he never, ever did anything the easy way. Seemed one thing was always true. If you were too tired breath, you were too tired to find trouble. The first few weeks Face'd been on the team had proved a learning experience for both of them, left Hannibal exhausted, and Face run straight into the ground.

It could have been so easy, but no, instead it was Murdock and Hannibal all but wrestling Face into the tub. The spray from the water getting everyone half drenched and cold in the mountain air before Face had finally untangled himself from them and started floundering around on the slick porcelain of the tub until he eventually wound up settling right side up, his head to the side and away from the shower spray.

"Oh look at that, you're getting a shower." Murdock tossed a washcloth and scrap of soap at Face. "Clean the hell up." Murdock's jaw was working back and forth, grinding his teeth. It was a sure sign he was at his limit. Murdock was aware of that fact. "Keep an eye on Peter Pan here, I'm gonna' clear the rest of the place."

"Take your time Murdock. I've got this." There was just a nod and then he was gone. Hannibal propped his hip on the sink, watching and waiting. That's what he did now. Hover in the background and make sure his two wayward wards didn't kill each other. The water had Faces shirt plastered against his skin, showing all the bones that should have been covered with muscle and the dog tags.

The tags mattered. As much as Face hated the military and Vietnam, and at this point Hannibal, he hadn't taken them off. They meant Face hadn't entirely given up, one tiny glimmer of hope on the festering pile of pain the kid had wound up in. Hannibal watched them move up and down, proof that Face was still breathing.

"I got everything out. We can dry him off and change. . . ." Murdock's words trialed off. Standing in the door of the bathroom, something had him stopped mid sentence, frozen, with a look of pure fury in his eyes. The one that Hannibal had been watching out for.

"What's wrong Murdock?" Nothing had changed since he'd left the room. Face hadn't even moved.

"Get those the fuck off." Murdock jabbed a finger at the dog tags. Hannibal had seen Murdock lose it once. He didn't ever want to see it again, especially not in a small bathroom with Face semi aware in the tub.

He eyed Murdock for a moment longer. But there was nothing else to see. "Alright" Keeping his own voice matter of fact Hannibal knelt by the tub and reached for the tags. It wasn't until Hannibal had grabbed the standard issue ID that Face reacted, his own boney fingers wrapping around Hannibal's wrist.

"Leave 'em alone."

"Those are Face's, not yours." Murdock's voice was the low warning sound of an animal pushed to it's limits.

"It's the only worthless thing I have left." Face's laugh was humorless, without any fight in it. Even Face knew that at this point that he wasn't in charge of things.

"Wrong Face." Murdock's hands balled into tight fist and he took a half step.

"Easy Murdock." Hannibal kept his voice low and calm, but sure. He wasn't in charge but he was in control. It worked, for just a second Murdock turned his attention to Hannibal. Behind the rage was a pain flaring so brightly it almost burned to look at.

"That ain't the only worthless thing still hanging on Face, you got me here."

"You weren't here!" Face shook his head, fingers tightening around Hannibal's wrist. "Fuck it. Take 'em, I don't give a shit anymore." He let go of Hannibal, leaning his head back against the dingy tile and stared up at the ceiling. Goddamn it, Face couldn't have hit harder if he'd tried. Even half dead Face hadn't lost the vicious self protection streak.

Murdock dropped his head, unable to keep eye contact; another bad sign. Eyes on the floor and already turning away Murdock managed to choke out, "Forget it. Leave 'em. I gotta go." He waved vaguely towards the cabin door. "I gotta secure the perimeter." It was a lie, one that Hannibal let him have.

Letting go of the tags Hannibal waited until the cabin door shut to drop to the side of the tub. "Goddamn it kid, what have you done to yourself?"

Face just laughed. "Everything." Dry and humorless and full of angst. "What's it matter anymore, Colonel?"

The way he said everything had Hannibal thinking about the other shoe that had yet to drop, but fact was he didn't have time to dwell on it at the moment. "Christ kid, Murdock left the Marines and came halfway around the world to find you." Hannibal didn't know if Face was even able to understand what he was saying, but it still needed said. "I made a mistake. I thought you wanted out of the army more then you needed to stay. I was wrong, I'm sorry. But if you thought you could hide somewhere and die like no one gave a damn, you were damn well wrong."

Hannibal waited a few moments, giving Face time to breath and himself time to think. Carefully he dropped a hand on Face's shoulder, half expecting the younger man to move away again. Instead there was a heavy shudder that wracked someone that used to be all too strong. It was deep silence that got lost to the noise of the shower and the weight of why they were there. Thin fingers found their way down to Hannibal's. There was something all too familiar in the way Face's boney fingers grabbed him. It was what men dying on the battlefield did; reach out. Try to feel someone else near, try to hold on, or give their dying words. Without thinking Hannibal's hand closed over his.

"I don't want you here." It was a plea. A statement of fact seeded in sorrow that ripped at heartstrings, a plea from a child. And that was it; Face was a kid, scared and trembling, half dead and wasted away. But he was still just a kid.

"I know." Hannibal's voice was low, yet it still reverberated off the tile. "But you need us here." More than Face could understand now. Maybe more any of them could.

XXXXX

Cruiser had waited till the last of the kids had been loaded up on the transport vehicle before taking Koala's hand and kneeling down in front of her. It had taken an act of God to get everything aligned to pull this off. Bunny, as much as her name set his teeth on edge, had proven to be a valuable asset to have in their corner. She'd spent most of her time making paper bag puppets with the kids, but it seemed as though when she wasn't being stupidly crafty she was somehow making heads roll and armed transports show up to escort a village full of one armed kids from Vietnam middle of fucking nowhere to safety. Today was the day that these kids would start a new life. Less privileged in the way of limbs, but perhaps more privileged in the way of opportunity.

Cruiser had to hang onto that thought. Otherwise they'd all suffered through a needless amputation for absolutely no reason. And the smiling girl standing in front of him didn't deserve that. Pulling out a teddy bear out from underneath the back of his shirt, Cruiser held it out to her, it had a scrap of paper with the doodle of a Koala with a bright smile and a superman cape tucked into a bow that was wrapped around it's neck. It had been Murdock's. Cruiser wasn't sure where it had come from, but it was in the pile of things Murdock always had on hand to trade back and forth or use as jokes and pranks. He wouldn't miss it and Koala needed it.

She leaned in, wrapping him up in a fierce one armed hug that let him know just how scared she was to be leaving the base. She was brave though. "Thank you." It was broken English that she'd been able to pick up in the last couple of weeks. She was a quick study and would get it sooner than a lot of them. "Koala love it." She pulled back and gave him a peck on the cheek, her toothy smile genuine in only a way that young kids held. "Koala love Cruiser."

Cruiser ducked his head, eyes slipping to the ground. He wasn't any good at emotion and goodbyes. This one was killing him in the same ways that saying goodbye to Katie had. Bunny came around the corner before he could wander down that road too much. Good thing too. Raising hand, Cruiser softly put it to the center of Koala's chest, where her heart was. "Cruiser love Koala." She smiled at him again, the message not getting lost in translation this time.

Glancing up to Bunny, he gave the little girl a reassuring pat. "You stick close to Bunny, she's going to take good care of you." With that, he stood up, ruffling her hair as Bunny reached down and took Koala's hand, leading her away in a mad flourish of chatter.

He hated watching them go, but there was no other way. BA knew it too. Arms crossed in front of him the bigger man watched with a fierce scowl. It wasn't until the trucks pulled away and the two of them were staring at nothing but a cloud of dust that BA spoke. "Momma says if somethin' hurts bad to say goodbye to, then you was lucky to know them."

Cruiser swallowed the lump in his throat that had formed somewhere along time line and pulled out his pack of smokes. Nicotine was a nice old friend that he never had to say goodbye to. "Then," his voice cracked and he cleared his throat. "I'm tired of being so damned lucky."

"Ain't none of it right." BA shook his head, not hiding the fact he was crying

"Fuck man. . ." The whole thing was wrong and had been for months now. Missions that should have been child's play were kicking their ass and the ripple of misery it caused was strewn throughout. "I'm done with this shit."

"Don't belong here like this. Need to find the team."

Cruiser let that hang in the air as he pulled in that oh-so-good and burning smoke. BA was right, they needed to find the team. Get out of dodge and regroup or they would all wind up up in smoke.

"Colonel Mifflin wants to see both of you in his office." Dwyer interrupted, uninvited as usual, smug little punk that he was. Cruiser kept it to a two fingered salute with his smoke and waited for Dwyer to get the hint and leave. If he was expected either of them to jump at his announcement, he'd been sorely mistaken.

Dwyer just eyeballed them for a long moment. "ASAP."

At least some things never changed, like how BA didn't say shit. Looking like he wanted to rip Dwyer's head off, BA turned ever so casually towards Mifflin's office. Slow was the key to that. BA was still playing nice, but with the team and the kids gone, they were both struggling to find motivation.

Hannibal's parting order to play nice was it.

Cruiser had no idea what Mifflin wanted with them. Neither of them were the ones who had a problem staying out of trouble. That was Face and Murdock. Cruiser enjoyed a good fight though and he got his fill of them hanging around as back up with those two. Ever since they'd been gone, there had a significant lack of coping via smashing.

He could feel himself getting closer and closer to that breaking point. The last thing he needed was Mifflin finding some reason to crawl up his ass and top him off. Flicking the butt of his smoke to the ground, Cruiser went through the door to Mifflin's office a step behind BA.

Neither one of them hurried to attention, but eventually they got there, BA even managed something that was almost a salute. Mifflin barely bothered to look up anyways. The idjit was too busy looking over papers, thinking he was important.

"I assume the children have been safely evacuated?"

"Miss Schrowder just left with the last of 'em." He never could bring himself around to calling her by Bunny. It was a stupid fucking name. Swear to God he wasn't sure how anyone took her seriously.

"Excellent." Straightening the pile of papers, Mifflin finally looked up. "I want the two of you to pack your bags, your flight out is 0500 tomorrow."

BA's frown deepened, but he didn't say a word

Hannibal. It was his first thought. "Flight out?" Even the lazy, half assed at attention posture he'd accomplished gave way with the unexpected announcement.

"The children are safe and I have no further use for you. With your ringmaster stateside, I don't dare let you run loose on my base." Mifflin turned the papers in his hands towards them. "I made arrangements for three weeks of R and R stateside before you report to your stateside rotation.

Cruiser started to protest. The idea that the base and the men on it were better off without him and BA at their disposal was a shit for brains move. An elbow to the ribs cut him off and a quick exchange of glares between BA and him straightened it all out. Fact was for the first time since he'd step foot into that recruiting office, seventeen years old and wet behind the ears with life, Cruiser did not want to be here. Logic told him the men needed him. Lives were going to be lost without him; but it was all too distant. Secondary to the fact that he needed out, and there wasn't a damn bit of good he was going to do anyone if he couldn't concentrate on anything past out. "0500 it is."

Mifflin did something Cruiser had never seen him do before; he smiled. "Goodbye and good riddance. Dismissed."

Cruiser returned the favor, offering Mifflin his nicest smile and tight salute. Out the door and suddenly only hours away from being out of Mifflin's world, Cruiser lit up another smoke. "I hate him just a bit less right now."

"Don't care 'bout him. He a fool." BA fell into step beside him.

"No shit, Einstein."

"Smart enough to know I ain't going to Chicago."

"Yeah, but do you know where Hannibal is?" Last Cruiser knew LA was not a one horse town where everyone knew your name.

"Said he was going to a friends place in Lake Isabella. You coming with me?"

"You kiddin'?"

"You got a sister."

"Yeah." Cruiser stopped and looked at BA. "I got a team too." Letting the smoke blow away from BA, he let it all settle like it should. It was the closure? Release? Whatever it was, he needed it. "Three weeks is more than enough to do both."

BA nodded. The discussion was done. Both of them had blood waiting with baited breath on US soil for their safe return, but there was one last battle they needed to fight.

XXXXX

Murdock did one last walk around the cabin, cool mountain air forcing his hands deep into his pockets. The perimeter was clear, unlike his damn head. The voices and ghost that had been forced into the background when Hannibal arrived were back, trying to demand Murdock's attention. All fucking in fucking threes. More of them this time. Not just the new ones, old ones joining in too, trying to distract him. Trace, the girl, the barely teenaged Viet Cong missing his intestines would finally fade away just to let his Mom and Dad and sister show up. Laughing like the threes do. He was never enough. Never, never, never...

No, Fuck that and fuck them. They were gone and he was here and he'd promised Facey, and he'd fucking meant it. But Heroin Face was wearing Real Face's dog tags, and not lettin' anyone touch 'em, Like real Face would do, but he was Heroin Face. The things he'd done, that couldn't be Real Face. There was no threes. Wrong, Wrong, Wrong...

When the fuck had he ended up in front of the cabin door and where the hell had the smoke come from? Why was he so very aware of the Polaroids he'd found in Face's jeans? All sharp and warm in his chest pocket? Oh Fuck. Oh Fuck. Oh Fuck...

The cigarette burned his fingers and he dropped it, crushing it with his boot, knowing he had to go in and deal and not having any clue how the hell to do that. There was no hope out here though and Hannibal was inside. Hannibal, he would help. He always did.

The inside of the cabin was dim and quiet. One quick look let him know Face was still in the now empty tub, sound asleep, under a blanket, no doubt provided by Hannibal. Damn it, how long had he been gone? Before Murdock could try to do the math he saw Hannibal beckon him over to the tiny table in the kitchen.

Hannibal had had enough time to rifle through the cupboards and make a pot of coffee. Taking a half step up he reached the counter and poured hot coffee into an already waiting cup, putting it in front of Murdock on the table. "He's been out for about a half hour."

"Good, Good. He's gonna need sleep, he's got a whole lot of feeling like shit to do." Murdock focused on the mug of coffee and how warm it was in his hands and not thinking about Real Face doing Heroin Face's dirty work. And not looking at Hannibal.

"How're you holding up?" Hannibal was never one to beat around the bush with things and now was no exception. He looked casual, half leaned back on the rickety wooden chair with his cigar in place, however, Hannibal was anything but. There was too much going on, too much out of his control, too much to do and yet nothing at all.

"Don't know sir." Hannibal was the only person he ever called sir and meant it. "It supposed to be all clear like. Heroin and Real and never the two shall meet and then it's all dog tags and Real and Face can't live like that knownin' what he did and all and I can't stop it again." Hot coffee spilling over onto his shaking hands was the only reason Murdock stopped talking. Damn it. He lost the thread again and those fucking pictures where burning bright in his pocket. No, no, no. Threes, threes… all threes no, not his secret to tell. Nope, he had lots of secrets but this wasn't his.

Hannibal was watching him with those all seeing eyes, like he did when he was focusing on the bits that needed sorting. Fuck, nothing ever got past Hannibal like that. "Yeah, speaking of what he's done, I asked and he said everything." The pictures were white hot. No, no, no. Don't ask Hannibal, don't, don't, don't... "Any idea what that means?"

The coffee cup hit the table hard enough for the thud to echo in the still, thick air. God Damn it. It wasn't his secret to tell, but damned if he could lie to Hannibal. He was so fucked, fucked, fucked. Without looking up Murdock felt his hand drift to his pocket, over the burning hot Polaroids. They'd burned through his shirt and skin and scarred into his heart, or what was left of it.

"Yeah." Murdock choked, not wanting any of it to be real. Not for Face, not for him, not for Hannibal. "I know." Please let it drop Hannibal, please don't ask, please... you don't want to know... you already know too much.

Hannibal took a slow sip of his coffee, watching Murdock. Watching, watching. Fucking watching, like only Hannibal did. "I need to know, Murdock. I've dealt with one detox and that was for a guy who was forced and wanted nothing to do with heroin." He was right and Murdock knew it. It was a different animal passed out in the tub. One that Hannibal had never encountered. "I need to know what battle we're fighting."

There was a pathetic sob from a worn, beaten animal. It was him. Fuck. He couldn't look up, he couldn't be part of it. Even when he had no choice, even when it had to be. They were so fucked.

His hand, his Goddamned hands betrayed him. The pictures were in them and holding them out to Hannibal.

"I was too late Hannibal. That's what he was doin' to score." He didn't want to look up, he didn't want to see the hurt and pain and disappointment in Hannibal's eyes, but he couldn't stop himself.

Hannibal was frowning as he took the pictures. He hadn't seen them yet. He would understand too soon. Holding them there, across the table, Hannibal looked into a snapshot of time; a freeze frame of just what heroin had done to Face. Why Real Face couldn't be Heroin Face. Murdock could see it, the slacked jaw and cigar that froze halfway between Hannibal and the table. It was only a few seconds before Hannibal put the pictures face down on the table, but it seemed to hang in the air like a lifetime. Glancing to the bathroom Hannibal was for once at a loss for words. Hand over his mouth, Hannibal sagged into the chair. "Thank you, Murdock."

"No, no, no…." The words got caught and everything, every feeling clogged Murdock's throat and threatened to drown him. He couldn't get out the sorrys or the memories of Lanie, he was too busy hanging his head and crying for all the pain and lost and missed chances. Hannibal's hand was on top of his, the other one on the side of his head, letting Murdock break as he stood guard and took the burden of one and accepted the responsibility of carrying it in the space between heartbeats.


	27. Chapter 27

Murdock cried until the tears gave way to exhaustion. Hannibal got him to the couch and covered him with a blanket, hoping that the nightmares would be exhausted also and the man could finally get some well deserved rest. Pulling one of the kitchen chairs over Hannibal positioned himself to have a clear line of site to both of his sleeping men. Lighting up a cheap cigar, there wasn't shit Hannibal could do other then watch his men suffer.

He'd learned the theory of leading men at West Point; Southeast Asia taught him the practice, but this was beyond anything he'd ever encountered. He'd seen senseless, he'd been helpless, he'd watched his men tortured, seen them die. But never like this; never by their own hand.

Everything Hannibal knew involved attacks from an enemy. This was friendly fire. How in the hell could a kid with all the skill and scams that Face had, end up like this? How in the hell could the most brilliant pilot he'd ever seen, get locked so deep into crazy? Odds and fates had been stacked against them, genetics too in Murdock's case. But how in the hell did that work out to choosing to live like Face was? It wasn't even living, it was getting high and nothing else.

How broken did you have to be to get as bad as the kid in the Polaroid? How much had Hannibal added to that by sending him state side. He'd been trying to save his life and somehow Face's and Murdock's souls had paid the price. Now all Hannibal could do was watch.

The sound of Face dry heaving had Hannibal getting up. Murdock was still asleep and that was best for everyone. Groaning in misery, Face clambered around the tub, pulling himself up on the edges, doing his best to get out of the tub and instead winding up in a pile on floor.

One quick glance at Murdock was enough to let him know the man was still sleeping. Funny how he looked like he was twelve. Damn it, there was no time for this crap. Stubbing out his cigar Hannibal made his way to the bathroom. Speaking of looking like a twelve year old. . . at least this time Hannibal knew not to touch Face without warning. "Need a hand?"

It took him a minute to work through it, but eventually Face gave him a nod and held out his hand. "Yeah." It was not often that Hannibal ever saw Face choose the easy way, even in the most minimal of the meaning. It was a sign of just how bad of shape he was in.

He didn't talk, with Face sometimes the less said the better. It gave him less opportunity to be obstinate. Sliding his arm round Face's back, Hannibal felt ribs poking out under the skin and wet clothes. More things he really couldn't think about now. Right now, he needed to get Face into the main cabin and get him some dry clothes. It wasn't much of a mission but anything was a welcome distraction. It was several long moments to get Face to the bed and by that time the kid was sucking air like a swayback nag.

"Have a seat." Hannibal lowered him onto the edge of the bed and quickly backed off. Turning and reaching into the duffel, he gave Face a few moments to get his bearings while Hannibal gather the clothes that Murdock had packed. "Here, they aren't the best but they're dry." Hannibal kept his voice down, both to keep Murdock sleeping and to keep Face calm. Dropping the clothes on the bed next to Face, Hannibal nodded at them. "If you need help let me know."

"I've got it." Between the tremors and trying to keep the dry heaves down, it took far too long, but Hannibal didn't push it. Face was cooperating for the moment and he wasn't making a bunch of noise that would wake Murdock up. Finally though he had dry clothes on. Hannibal could see the toll it had taken on him; sweating and shaking from the effort. "Where are we?"

"Middle of nowhere California, at a friend's hunting cabin." It was a compromise of information. There couldn't be a lot of harm in telling Face that, and it showed Hannibal was willing to work with him.

"It's cold."

"Dry clothes and blankets will help."

Face just looked at him. Whatever he was thinking he let it go. Or the nausea pulled his attention away. It was hard to tell at this point. "I feel like shit."

"Dehydration and drying out will do that." Hannibal made sure to leave judgment out of that. It was just cold fact.

"I can't fucking keep anything down, how am I supposed to stay hydrated?"

"Once you're past the worst of the detox you'll be able to keep it down." It was true and it meant Face was doomed to a lot more mystery.

"I can't even remember the last time I drank any water." Lying down on the bed, Face curled up, eyes closed and arms wrapped around his stomach. "Come on Hannibal, there's gotta be something you can do to help me out."

"If memory and Murdock serve me right, the only thing that helps is time." He was so damned tired of having no answers and nothing to do.

Face let it go, choosing silence between the spells of rapid breathing and inability to stay still. "What about . . . can you start a line on me or something? Give me some fluid that way? It would help ease things up, right?"

Hannibal could start a line in his sleep. One thing a good leader needed was the ability to treat his men in the field. Cruiser had worked with Hannibal until he could drop an 18 gage IV in the dark, under fire and out of time. The question was, should he? It was just fluid, not a narcotic, it couldn't actually hurt Face. Murdock was the one who knew this shit, but a quick glance showed the kid was still sound asleep. How long had it been since he'd actually gotten rest? Did he really need to disturb him?

"Please, Hannibal." Learning over the side of the bed, Face grabbed the garbage can that was there as his stomach turned on him again. There was nothing left in his system; stomach acid and bile that the kid spit out. He laid there, not moving, just trying to breath and get it under control again. Just watching him looked painful.

Decision made, Hannibal grabbed his pack and the med kit from it. Face for once relaxed and let him do his work. Not that it was easy, Faces arms were lined with scars and marks, kid had more tracks than a railroad yard and the tremors just added to the challenge. It took a few moments and two sticks but Hannibal finally landed a spot up high on his biceps.

"Thanks." Face stayed on the bed, keeping his arm still while Hannibal hung the saline bottle.

"It will take a little while to help." Hearing a thanks from Face was a rarity in the best of times; he most often chose gifts to show his gratitude instead of words. Hearing it now, in this place, had just a fraction of the tension easing from Hannibal's shoulders.

Nodding, Face stared up at the ceiling. There was nothing else to do. Murdock was tossing and turning, but still actually and blessedly asleep and Face was too damn wrung out to do much more then sit back and wait for the fluids to start bringing a fraction of relief. Leaning back against the wall by the bathroom Hannibal lit what was left of his cigar. Setting the lighter by the ashtray on the sad end table, Hannibal took a deep drag. Working his tongue around the warn smoke filling his mouth, Hannibal allowed himself a few rare moments of peace and just a fraction of hope.

Face acting mostly rational, Murdock sleeping and not looking like he was on death watch. It was better than Hannibal had dared hope since he'd gotten that late night call from Murdock. No, if he was completely honest, and Hannibal prided himself on being nothing less, it started before that. Hell, he'd had that sinking, kicked in the gut feeling since Murdock had punched him for sending Face home.

The drugs, the self destruction, the complete debauchery and depths Face had fallen to, were ultimately Face's own doing, but Hannibal had been the start; the catalyst. He'd read his man wrong and it damn sure had cost them. All of them.

At least for right now Face was not trying to send himself off the rails. It was something, and more than Hannibal had a right to expect. Hell, at this point just these two knuckleheads being alive was a win.

He was halfway through a second cigar when the kid's IV ran out. Leaving his cigar in the ashtray, Hannibal replaced the empty bottle with a new one. Face still looked like shit but his color was less green and the dry sunken look was lessened.

"How you feeling now?"

"Like shit." Face didn't hide the exhaustion from his voice. "The cramps are easing up a bit though. I think. It's hard to tell."

Hannibal nodded. There wasn't any need to respond to that. It was all true and it was how it had to be. If you spent months putting poison into your veins, then you had to pay like hell when you stopped.

"I need to use bathroom."

"There's a trashcan next to you if you're going to be sick."

"No, I need the head."

"I'll need to get Murdock."

"Why?"

"He's the one with all the experience, kid."

"He's asleep." Face lifted his head off the bed to make sure he was right. "I've gotta take shit, Colonel. I'm on a leash with this IV anyway. You can let him sleep. I'm not going anywhere."

Maybe he was tired, but Face was actually making sense. It was a windowless bathroom that Murdock had cleared already and Face was barely able to stand. What the hell could he get up to? "Alright."

XXXXX

Face couldn't get into the drawer fast enough. Hands shaking with want, he could feel it. So close to being so damn good in his veins. He had done it. He'd gotten past Murdock and past Hannibal and all their fucking bullshit sobriety. And now, finally he pulled out the baggie he'd stashed under the sink while no one had been looking. A parting gift from Marco, the sick fuck. All the more reason to push things away and forget. Dear God it was like he was staring at salvation itself. So bright and white and beautiful. His body was shaking with want. So fucking close to that release, that warm nothingness he wanted so bad, he couldn't get his fingers to unwrap the baggie fast enough. Like he was trying to take the panties off his first lay again, his body half sprung just being this close. But there it was, finally open and just waiting for him to take it. His mouth was watering. If he didn't know how damn good it was to slam that plunger home where it belonged he'd have been lapping the stuff up like a starved puppy. As it was, it was all he could do to pull the syringe out of his pocket. Fucking Hannibal and his self righteous bullshit had been too stupid, lapping up Face's acceptance of his help to realize he'd packed up too few supplies after starting the line on him.

It had been perfect. Hannibal always carried a medpack with him and now was no exception. True blue boy scout he was, it hadn't taken much suffering to elicit exactly the offer Face had wanted. Please Hannibal, I can't take it anymore, anything to help me. Fucker. He had no clue what type hell he was putting Face through right now. It had taken everything Face had not to scramble his way into the bathroom and claw at the heroin he'd known was there as soon as that line had been started. Hannibal was a damn good start. Face had given up on his arms weeks ago, tracking up his legs was easier and he'd never been a good shot with his left hand anyway. Flicking Hannibal's lighter open, Face pulled back the top, twisting, until the metal bit into his finger. Not like he cared, the only thing he cared about was that it popped off. Packing the lid full of smack he left just enough room for the water to mix.

Come on, come on, come on, he wanted it so damn bad. Igniting the lighter he watched the heat work it's magic. The flame danced around the cap, melting the powder all down, mixing into that fucking potent serum that would solve all his problems. Dark and warm just like its embrace. Just like his life. Pulling all of it up into the syringe he'd swiped off the table Face didn't even wait to sit down before he went to work on the IV. Pulling his arm back, he pinched the rubber tubing off so the saline didn't keep running and dilute the shit out of his high, Face steadied the medication port between his palm and pinky, guiding that needle home. He couldn't wait. Not another millisecond. He slammed that plunger down.

He felt it. That wonderful warmth that raced up his arm and wrapped itself around him like an old friend, one that never left. It was the most incredible feeling in the world. Safe and warm, pushing all of the memories, all the screaming voices back to nothing where they belonged. It pushed Hannibal and Murdock in the next room off of his list of problems. Made the world go away, no made him go away, until there was nothing left but that deep floating void. He was lost on clouds, drifting too far away to be found. Peaceful, with the angels passing by, their carefree forms and serendipitous looks adding to the perfect. It was peace on earth, hark the herald angels sing, the hallelujah choirs, all coursing through his veins. It was glorious darkness that ravaged him until there was nothing left.

XXXXX

Engulfing silence was interrupted by an out of place sound. Not the low murmur and comforting babble of soft voices. This was something else. Flopping onto his side Murdock tried to escape the sound and retreat back into the calm abyss. There was so much badness outside and so much quiet inside, he just needed to rest. He needed the silence and the serenity and Face.

Face.

Murdock was sitting straight up, gasping for air and trying not to scream. Fuck, where was he? Who was here? Why did things feel so wrong? As fast as he'd woken up the answers came screaming into the darkness. Drugs, abuse, Face... Fuck. Sucking in cool air, Murdock took in Hannibal sitting in the corner The sense of dread growing, why? Long, agonizing seconds ticked by before it hit him.

Where the hell was Face? By the time his brain put together the clues, his stomach was tightening and dropping. The bed was empty and the bathroom door closed. It couldn't be Hannibal in there because he was here looking at Murdock. No, no, no….

"Where's Face?" He knew the answer but he still asked.

"In the bathroom."

He was moving before Hannibal finished, knowing the future and not wanting to. Fast, forward movement felt like slow motion. Hand on the knob, it wouldn't turn, locked, slamming his shoulder and franticly muscling into the frame had it crashed open and the world stopped.

Face was dead.

"Hannibal!" The voice screaming was his.

Lying on the bathroom floor, was the body of his best friend. No, no, no. Not Face, not again. God please no.

"Face!" Murdock was on the floor grabbing at Face's head, hands shaking as he tilted Face's forehead back, breathing into his mouth, knowing it was pointless, knowing he was too late, still trying.

Hannibal was there looking just as stunned. Hand on the doorframe for less than a second Hannibal was moving away, yelling. "Hang on, Murdock!"

Over the breath counts and chest compressions, Murdock heard things landing on the floor, getting riffled through for a painful amount of time before Hannibal was finally back.

"Don't die, Facey. Please. Don't leave me here."

Ripping a box, Hannibal dropped things onto the ground and opened a syringe. "Cruiser gave me Narcan. It reverses heroin." Clear liquid drawn up, Hannibal reached over to the IV port and pushed the medication in, squeezing the still hanging bag of saline to slam it into Face.

His back up against the tub, Murdock ended up with Face's head in his lap. "Please stay, I just need to know. Don't be three. Please." It was too late, he was too late. He was holding the dead body of his best friend and nothing would ever be the same.

Staring at Face's body, the syringe still in his hand, Hannibal was watching like he expected the dead to rise. No, no, no….

Face's arm moved. What the fuck? Dead was dead until you ended up a ghost in his head.

There was a sucking, deep, gasping breath and Murdock found himself staring into a dead man's eyes. It couldn't be real. Face was dead. Trembling hands touched Face's cheek, it was comfortingly solid and warm. How? He was dead and dead wasn't alive and what the hell was even real?

Face was taking deep raspy breaths and moving, trying to push himself up. They were starved breathes but enough to make his chest rise.

"Nice job, kid." Hannibal was pissed, all jaw tight and angry, ice cold narrow eyes staring at Face. He didn't bother to hide any of the anger.

Face was too busy rolling onto his side, unaware and gagging.

Murdock had seen too many overdoses, he knew you didn't come back. He knew there was no hope, but Face was moving and breathing. How? No, there was only one answer. He'd lost what was left of his mind. Wait, how was Hannibal talking to Murdock's hallucination? What the hell? What was going on? What the fuck was real? Not sure what was up or right, Murdock went to the only source that was always true.

"Hannibal?" He couldn't get more out, he had to trust it was enough. Was this real or was he lost?

"Yeah, Murdock?" Hannibal was moving to Face's side, grabbing under his arm. "Help me get him up to the tub."

Murdock was doing what Hannibal asked without question, not sure if it was real or another one of his hallucinations. Still better to err on the side of Hannibal. Face couldn't fight them, too busy dry heaving, his body trying to figure out if it wanted to breath or vomit more. Hannibal kept a fist full of Face's shirt, making sure he didn't try anything else stupid.

"Which one of us is dead Hannibal?"

"No one is dead, Lieutenant."

"No sir." Murdock shook his head, trying to work out how two known facts that couldn't both be wrong, could be wrong. "You don't get undead. This can't be real." Panic was slinking up to him and bedding down like an unwanted guest.

"No, you can't get undead." Hannibal stiff armed Face when he tried to push up, dropping him back down. Whatever sympathy Hannibal had when he'd first gotten here was gone. "Cruiser gave me something called Narcan. Said to give it to Face if he overdosed. The stuff is like the antidote to heroin." He looked at Murdock, his entire demeanor changing to something genuine and grateful. "You found him in time, Murdock. You saved his life."

"Jesus Christ." Face wasn't dead. He wasn't dead, he could breath, he could move. Murdock's hands were shaking, a tide of emotions he couldn't deal with, didn't want, and couldn't handle hit him hard. Jesus Christ. The asshole was alive, and moaning and flopping around the empty tub like a fish. Face lied, schemed, played on Hannibal's guilt, and used caring for him as a means to an end. A few days sober was all the fuck Murdock needed from him and he couldn't fucking do it. No, thinking about another human being was too damn much to ask, all Face gave a shit about was heroin. God damn it.

That selfish son of a bitch was alive.

Emotions fought and fury won. Murdock was up, standing over the thing that used to be his friend. "You really wanna get high huh, Facey Boy? You wanna float off on the dragon, far away from the pain?" Murdock's smile twisting, he yanked the IV out of Face's arm, smiling at the blood. "Too God damn bad." Keeping the needle in his hand and away from Face he turned the shower on cold, laughing when Face tried to get away from the icy water pelting down on him. "You're stuck in hell with the rest of us."

Face scrambled, slipping and sliding around the porcelain tub, unable to get away from the water, he finally managed to kick the knob and get the spray off. "Just leave me the fuck alone."

Laughing harder Murdock turned the water right back on. Leaving It to soak, he snagged all the shit Face used for his little party. The lighter, the smack, the needle, he dumped it all into a towel and knotted the corners up into a bundle. "Still got some drugs left, bet you want 'em real bad. Hell, I bet after all the shit you did to get 'em, you need them real bad."

Murdock smiled at the frantic look in Face's eyes. The bastard could still feel, just only for himself. Murdock bolted out the door and down the deserted path to the empty lake. Screaming up at the sky to a God who only showed up when he was flying, Murdock threw the bundle as far out into the lake as he could. "You want him to use God? You want him to keep fucking shit up, huh? You want that? Too bad you son of a bitch! I need to talk to him, fucker! So you can fucking wait." Leaving the remains of Face's stupidity to sink beneath the water, Murdock sprinted back to the cabin, letting anger push him faster.

Just like when he'd left, Hannibal was keeping Face from getting out of the tub.

"Stay down or I'm going to knock you out and tie you down." Hannibal wasn't kidding around.

"Damn it, just let me fucking go." Face was shaking, blood trickling down his arm. His voice was lifeless and desperate, on the verge of tears as the only lifeline he had was gone. Hannibal ignored it. Perfect.

"Bad news Face, the only things gonna get high with your shit are the fishies." The bathroom door was already sitting crooked from where Murdock had put his shoulder through it, two good kicks took it off the hinges. Murdock tossed it outside on the empty fire pit. This time when he went back into the cabin he locked the door behind him. The water was off and Face was looking like a drowned rat. Good.

"Congrats, asshole! You lost your drugs, your dignity, and the bathroom door. Privacy is for winners."

"You did not. . . I. . ."

"I sure did." Murdock smiled. "There's nothing left and nowhere to go Sunshine, so shut the fuck up and dry out."

"You fucking asshole." Face's eyes were closed, head shaking with self pity.

"Oh yeah, I'm an asshole Face, and don't forget it." He'd been playing around, feeling for the man and friend, that was all done now. Time was short and he had to know. From now on it would be simple. No give, no mercy.

"Forget it . . . how can I? You took all my fucking smack, I can't forget shit!"

"Welcome to the club."

"What, Sunshine?" Face finished off for him with a barb that should have stuck.

"Yeah, Sunshine." Murdock let his eyes lock with Face. He wasn't going to back down, Murdock would have nightmares until he died, there was no forgetting, that was just fact. He was haunted and it would never change. He'd be damned before he let Face use it as a weakness. Face closed his eyes and went back to his misery. Good.

It was time to set things straight.

"Hannibal, I'm sorry he used you. From now on he doesn't get shit." Hannibal nodded. "You can leave shit for brains here, take a break. I can watch him from the sofa, anyways there's not a damn thing he can get into." Hannibal needed to regroup and Face didn't need anyone to rail against.

Hand on going to Murdock's shoulder, Hannibal gave him a nod and solid, grateful squeeze before leaving the room. If Face wanted to spit and sputter and piss and moan he could do it from the tub while they ignored his bullshit words.


	28. Chapter 28

"No!" Face woke up with a start, covered in a cold sweat, heart pounding. Davies holding a gun to her crying head, yelling at him, demanding he do the unspeakable - unthinkable. All of it flashing before his eyes. No, he wasn't back there. He wasn't stuck in a mud hut and he wasn't watching his best friend turn into a monster. Blinking slowly and breathing rapidly, the wood panel walls of the cabin came back into focus. Right. He didn't know where he was, but he was stuck with Hannibal and Murdock, and the nightmares were coming back because there was nothing left to keep them at bay.

Hannibal was in the same position he'd been in when Face had fallen asleep; sitting on one of the crappy dinnet chairs he'd dragged over so he was within arms reach of the bed. Sitting with his arms folded and an unreadable expression. Only the cigar that smelled like cheap tobacco and burning tires was new.

Hands shaking, he didn't know if it was because of the adrenaline or the withdrawals, Face pushed sweat soaked hair off his forehead and out of his eyes. Taking deep breaths and closing his eyes, he waited for his heart to finally calm down. He hated this. There was no controlling it, no getting away from it. Even awake the memories intruded and there was nothing he could do about it.

Hannibal wasn't helping. The past three days had been a steady, mostly silent rotation of Murdock and Hannibal taking turns watching from the chair. It was his own personal prison. This time he'd won Hannibal. Murdock must've been outside, again. Good. Face couldn't deal with that bastard right now.

Pulling the thin blanket off, he swung his legs over the side of the bed, removed his sweat soaked shirt, and ran it over his face to dry off. It made his teeth set on edge. It wasn't his shirt, it was fucking Murdock's. Same with the sweats he had on. Lanky fuck had burned all of Face's stuff. Now he was stuck with clothes that were too big and had been broken in in all the wrong ways. Just like when he was a kid.

The bag of clothes he was lucky enough to share was on the other side of the cabin and he needed to get there. He wasn't as weak as he had been a couple days ago, but it would leave him exhausted. God, he just wanted this to end.

Face ignored Hannibal. It wasn't hard, it was a skill he'd learned years ago with the guards in juvie. Making his way over to the bag, Face dropped the shirt on the small table. Before he had a chance the bag was gone, relegated to Hannibal's hand.

"What do you want?"

Face let out a frustrated breath. "A shirt. What do you think I want?"

Without asking Hannibal opened the bag and rummaged around, pulling out a change of clothes. Tossing the bag out of reach, Hannibal patted down the article of clothing before holding it out to Face. "Here."

Face didn't have much of a choice. Tension in his jaw, he took the shirt. It was either that or not have clean clothes at all. "You can lighten up, if I had anything left I'd have found a way to use it by now."

"Believing you is a suckers bet."

"That's never changed." Face put the dry shirt on, tremors making it more of a challenge than it should have been.

"Apparently."

"Right." So they finally agreed on something. It still didn't get him anywhere. Looking out a small window that hadn't been washed in years, Face wanted out. It was too much like jail, too much sobriety, and too much confinement. No getting away from Hannibal or Murdock or Davies or Ivan or any of it. No. Stop. He couldn't go there. He didn't want to picture it anymore. Pulse picking up again, Face could feel his breathing following suit. He turned, took a step and stopped. There was nowhere to go. He turned again, facing the wall this time, hands going up, Face put his forehead on his arms closed his eyes. Enough. They weren't here. Those memories were a world away, those monsters were dead, never to rise again. Those were facts. The nightmares were just that. He knew that.

"Bad, isn't it?" Hannibal's voice was flat talk. "Having to deal with your shit."

Shaking his head against the past, walls closing in on him, the memories pelting him relentless. Legs giving out, Face wound up on the floor. "Stop. Can you please just stop." He couldn't take it. He knew he couldn't.

"I can't." Hannibal actually sounded sorry.

"Why the fuck not?" Focusing on Hannibal's voice, bastard that he was, was better than the memories. "I get it. I'm a piece of shit smack fiend."

"You are." Hannibal agreed with him again. "And you're one of the best men I've ever served with."

Face laughed at that. It was sinister even to him. "That's a bunch of shit and we both know it." You didn't discharge your best without even asking them. You did that to the people you just wanted out from under foot.

The bastard had the nerve to do nothing but look at him like he had a clue. Face stared back. "Come on," It was almost taunting. Almost daring. Anything to keep his attention off his nightmares. "Tell me I'm wrong."

"I know better then to tell you anything." Hannibal was standing there, staring at him like the pathetic specimen he was.

No. That wasn't doing him any good. He didn't even know what the hell that meant. "Isn't that why you're here?" Wait. "Why are you here? You ship me off like yesterday's news and now I can't get away from you, I don't get it. I don't get any of it." His voice dropped, becoming insistent at the end. He couldn't help it. He didn't have the energy to control any of it anymore.

"I'm sure you don't."

Face stared at him. Was he going to explain any of it or just leave it there? When Hannibal didn't continue, Face gave up on it, shaking his head at the whole thing. He didn't get a say in it. He just got to try to figure out which existence was worse; his nightmares or his reality.

"I've told you why I sent you to the World and why I'm here Face. It hasn't changed."

"I was never coming back here!" He could feel himself falling to pieces and he couldn't stop it. "I've got nothing here but a Sister that sent me to juvie. That day on the chopper, when I pulled you out of the river, even back then I was never coming back here."

"And I should have listened."

Looking at him, Face didn't know what to say or think to that. "I just wanted to sleep." That was it. He'd been defeated.

"We all do."

Shaking his head, Face closed his eyes. "But I can't. I've fucking tried everything and I can't sleep. I can't get any of that shit out of my head." Maybe they all had problems and Face was just the weak link. He couldn't take it like everyone else could and it had finally just snapped him like a twig.

"The only way to survive is learning to come to terms with it." Hannibal was on the floor next to him.

"There's no coming to terms with it." Face leaned towards Hannibal, voice faltering with words he'd never spoken out loud. "I watched my best friend, Sgt. Butch Davies, rape and murder kids because he fucking could and I didn't do a damned thing to stop it. Tell me how I come to terms with that. How do I get their pleading out of my head? How do I silence their mom's screaming as he took her daughter's apart?" Face stopped. Damn him for saying it and for bringing it out to the surface and in the light. It was bad enough that he knew about it. Nobody else needed to see his true colors.

"You can't save them Face. You never could. No amount of hating yourself will change that son."

Son. It broken him. A simple three letter word that sent a world of guilt flooding through a dam of denial and hatred. "I never tried." He couldn't stop the tears or the shaking. He hated everything about it. He hated Davies for turning into a monster, and Thomas for holding him down and he hated the fact that he'd ever stepped foot in that village and that all he'd done was his best to run as far away as he could.

Hannibal's hand was on his shoulder. "There's nothing you could have done."

"There's no absolution for me." His sins ran too deep and were colored in crimson. He'd known it for a long time and it had finally caught up to him. Crushing him like stones levied against Saint Margaret.

"There's nothing you could have done. This isn't your sin, Face."

"I wish you were right."

"I am."

Face didn't argue it. There was no fighting the pain, there was just riding waves of emotions he didn't want until they were done with him. Like a kid's raft get thrown into the rocks by the ocean waves until the tide finally fell back, leaving him beaten and battered and exhausted. Face lost track of it all, somehow he had his dogtags in his hand, looking at them like they were foreign. He knew the truth for what it was, holding them out to Hannibal he said, "I'm not that guy anymore."

XXXXX

Lake Isabella was a dirt covered, middle of nowhere town that, from what Cruiser could tell, consisted of a gas station, a small market, and a mixture of rundown trailers and shacks that passed for houses. He knew that because they were surrounded by broken down, rusted out chain link fences to keep the dogs in. Hannibal sure knew how to pick 'em.

No matter, the dirt road they'd been following for the last several miles had led them out of town and around a curvy hill to the middle of nowhere even by Vietnam standards.

"Man, you better be right about that last turn." BA groused. "I don't wanna be showin' up at some redneck's by surprise."

"You don't want to make friends with our new backyard neighbors?" BA was right though, anyone who lived out here wasn't going to welcome them with open arms. Perhaps just their carry license. Didn't matter anyway. Cruiser smacked the back of his hand against BA's shoulder as they rounded the corner and saw the Dodge Hannibal had told them about in the driveway. "And you doubted me."

BA curled his his lip, ignoring Cruiser's comment and handling the car into the dirt driveway. Hannibal walked over to meet them as they got out.. "I'm damn glad to see you boys."

"Going that well, huh?" Cruiser took Hannibal's hand, the two of them leaning in as they shook, a firm slap on the back to let Hannibal know it was good to see him again. Hannibal, a crazy flyboy, and a heroin addict… what could have possibly gone wrong? "Good to see you, man."

BA got the same treatment. "It's been one hell of a ride. Still not sure how it's going to end."

BA growled his disapproval of that as Cruiser pulled out his smokes and leaned against the truck. "End with those fools gettin' their heads fixed up."

Hannibal had said it was a hunting cabin that a friend owned. Apparently he wasn't high up in the command structure. The hunting cabin was small enough that it made Cruiser think sleeping outside under the stars may be a better idea than cramming them all into the building. A nice lake a hundred yards out was the only nice thing about the place. "So what's the rundown?"

"Face is hooked bad, Murdock had him holed up and was drying him out. We dragged him here to keep him from scoring. Three days ago he conned me into starting an IV. He OD'd in the bathroom." Hannibal looked at the ground and then locked eyes with Cruiser. "He died in Murdock's lap. If you hadn't given me that narcan..." He didn't finish.

Cruiser took a long inhale of smoke. If Face had died in Murdock's arms. . . that was bad on so many levels.

"There's more…" Hannibal was never hesitant and it had Cruiser's eyes narrowing on him as he continued. "He got tangled up with some bastard named Marco who traded drugs for sex."

"He what . . ." Marco was a dude's name. He looked at BA and back to Hannibal. He had to have heard that wrong.

"Face aint gay." BA had that low still anger that was more alarming than when he yelled.

"That's the part Marco liked best."

Cruiser just looked at Hannibal shaking his head. What the hell did he say to that? Face was high enough to take that, overdosing in the bathroom wasn't a surprise. Hell, Cruiser would want to OD too.

Hannibal blew a stream of smoke into the air. "I made mistakes with this. Big ones, but this is his own self destruction."

"What the hell, Colonel? We've seen a lot of shit but this is. . . ." Cruiser let it go. He knew lots of guys that wound up using. Whether it was because they couldn't cope, wanted a quick way out of the military, or just wanted to get high, Cruiser had never figured it out. He'd seen enough of it growing up to lose any curiosity he may have had.

"I've never dealt with anything like it before." Hannibal had an edge and hardness to him that was out of place in the California sun. "But Murdock has."

"What's he say?" There wasn't a lot Cruiser could do. All the medical knowledge in the world wouldn't fix needing to dry out and sober up. And it for damn sure wouldn't stop him from using again if that's what he wanted.

"That we aren't dealing with Face, we're dealing with a sickness wearing Face's skin. And he'll do anything to score. All Murdock's been waiting to do is talk to the Real Face."

"Well, he can have fun trying to score way out here in bumfuck nowhere." Cruiser looked around. Twenty feet away behind wooden walls there was a disaster waiting for them.

"He was slick enough to stash something that even Murdock couldn't find. Christ only knows how."

"He that slick, he had any left he'd a used it by now." BA's tone didn't leave any room for doubt. He'd grown up in inner city Chicago, Cruiser didn't doubt that he knew.

"That's pretty much what Murdock said, he still burned all of Face's clothes and the door to the bathroom."

"Well that's effective." Cruiser pulled down the last of his smoke, flicking the butt of cigarette onto the ground and smashing it out with his heel.

"Murdock's had to deal with too much of this shit in his life." Hannibal chomped down on his cigar and folded his arms.

"Doesn't take much." Cruiser watched Hannibal for a long moment. The man looked tired in a way the bush had never left him. "How you holding up?"

Hannibal took a slow deep breath. "I'm exhausted in ways I never imagined."

"Yeah well," Cruiser's hand found Hannibal's shoulder. "BA and I can take over, you and Murdock can get some rest."

"Thank you, Daniel." Hannibal dropped a hand on his shoulder "Thank you, BA."

It was an unmistakeable thunderclap crack of gunfire going off that had them all dropping to the ground and pulling out the weapons they had on them. What the fuck? Who? They? It only took a second for Cruiser to realize there was no threat to them. The shot had come from inside. Shit. "Who the fuck has a gun?"

XXXXX

Face pushed himself up off of the sagging mattress that was all this fleabag, middle-of-nowhere cabin had to offer. Fucking Murdock standing there, that crazy fucking smile

that wouldn't shut the hell up. Apparently it was his turn to watch Face while Hannibal slipped out the front to do whatever the hell he pleased. Must be nice. Fuckers. No, Face was done. The both of them could take their self-righteous bullshit and get the hell out of his life.

"Funny ain't it?"

"Shut up, you asshole." Whatever Murdock had to say, Face didn't want to hear it. He took an unsteady step toward the lanky pilot, jaw clenched, chapped upper lip curled. Murdock, the fuck, looked at him. Silent and judging, because everything wasn't already fucked up enough.

Face's whole body hurt, tight and tense with anger, and not a damn thing he could do. He was stuck. There was no making it stop and no making it go away. He'd tried everything he could think of to get out of here and it had gotten him nowhere. Face was more sober than he'd been in months. He could feel those damn spectres creeping up on him, hear the desperation in their voices, see the pleas in their eyes. They'd haunted his every waking moment since he'd come back "home" and found himself a foreigner. Soon enough, they'd be dogging his reality as though they'd never left. And Murdock - Murdock, of all people! - had no damn right to force that on him. "Fuck you." There was no getting away from Murdock in this place; twenty by twenty square feet of hell.

"Why?" Murdock asked, all calm and casual like he was at a fucking church social. Fuck him.

Face spun back around. He shouldn't have. A small part of his brain that was in control of nothing knew that it was pointless. "Why what?"

"Why should I fuck off? Why don't you wanna sober up and be something?"

That was rich. "Tell me Murdock, what the hell am I supposed to be?" His voice was low, teeth clenched. He fucking hated everything about Murdock.

"Real."

He hated that answer so much he laughed. "Real? You want me to be real? A real fucking soldier? A real fucking yes sir, how high sir, burn 'em down sir? Or is it a different real? A real fucking liar? A real snitch, murderer, rapist?" He was getting more and more insistent and he couldn't stop or even figure out why. He wanted to shove Murdock away from him; out of this cabin and out of his life. "A real what Murdock?"

"A real person." Fucker said that like it made sense.

"I'm all of those things you fucking moron. That's the real person I am and I fucking hate it!" Why couldn't he just get it? Instead, no. Murdock had to stand there reading and judging Face, like he had a right.

"I love Real Face." Why the fuck did he sound sad about that?

"Nobody loves the real Face!"

"I do. Gave up my wings and all. They don't matter if you ain't real. I gotta find you and keep the others away."

"What others?"

The slightest of movements flickered in Face's peripheral vision, but he couldn't turn away from that very wrong look on Murdock's face. It wasn't fight or flight, not even anger or disappointment. He didn't get a chance to sift through his addled brain to place it before Murdock started up again, too calm and too quiet, and with a weird little smile clinging to his lips.

It was a creepy fucking smile.

Murdock's eyes never left Face's. "Trace, Roberts, Michele, Dombrowski. Some with names and the ones without names. I see a little girl crying. I can feel all this blood sliding through my fingers. I see bodies. Carved up, butchered bodies. Wholesale slaughter. The work of a monster, Face. And I know it's me. I'm the monster. Killing and hacking, and it felt so good."

For a second Face could've sworn Murdock was looking straight through him. Straight into the past, right back to that fucking place Face shot up to forget. It was skeletons and monsters, their bodies and ghosts. Face could see it plain as day in Murdock's eyes, like he was looking in the mirror. It had him pinned to the ground as stone cold and dead still as Michelangelo's Pieta.

Murdock closed his eyes and leaned his head back against the wall, breathing slow and deep. His own breath was sharp, rushing in and out with an anxiety Face couldn't place until his searching eyes caught on the gun in Murdock's hand. The pilot's eyes opened and drifted to the weapon. His knuckles turned white around the grip.

"I made a promise Face."

For a moment, Face wasn't in the shitty cabin. He was in the jungle, the humidity thick enough to smother him, the ground firm and wet beneath his knees, the coppery stench of blood in his nostrils.

"I need to know, to be sure," Murdock said, slow and worn. In another place, Face might have wondered how many times Murdock had said these words without ever saying them. "Are we done fighting? Did the monsters win?"

Did you fail?

Laughter bubbled up from Face, loud and harsh, it cut out as quick as it had burst forth. "Look at me, you stupid fuck!" He yelled. "I'm barely hanging on. I'm so doped up most of the time I can't feel anything, but I've got those monsters all figured out. I know how to lock them out." He threw his arms out towards Murdock in case the man needed another look at the track marks lining his veins. "Every time I take a fucking hit they're right back where they belong. Is that what you want to hear? Is it?" Spit flew from Face's lips, but Murdock didn't react, he never even blinked.

"Or is it that I don't know what to do anymore, is that it? How about the fact that the moment Diz shot me up was the first time in months I felt anywhere near relaxed? That while I was high, those voices finally stopped screaming in my ears and I could close my eyes without seeing it all again?"

Fuck. Here he was,now, seeing it all again, because Murdock wanted him to feel. Because Murdock never could leave well enough alone. And Hannibal. Face couldn't even go there. "Yeah, Murdock they won." He finally said it. "They fucking won and are doing a victory lap around my life and I've got nothing left."

Murdock had the cool barrel of a service revolver hard and unforgiving pressed under Face's chin. Face's breath caught as Murdock stepped in close, eyes going dim and lifeless while Murdock stood there, silent, looking through Face. Tears rolled down Murdock's cheeks.

For a moment, Face didn't know why Murdock was crying. It wasn't Murdock's life Face had turned upside down. It wasn't Face blocking Murdock from getting to the door. It wasn't Face holding a gun under Murdock's chin, waiting for the word to pull the trigger. But maybe it should have been.

Suddenly, it was obvious. It was Sunshine, young and lifeless, blank eyes staring up at him from the mud. It was Murdock, horrified and broken, skittering backward while blood mixed with tears. It was Face, sitting, helpless to do anything but watch as his best friend was taken apart. It was guilt and pain and being stuck, alone, at the mercy of everything and everyone who wanted to take them apart. It was Davies and Thomas and blood slicked children. It was Vietnamese begging and pleading for lives he couldn't save. It was their souls dying with one last agonizing cry.

It was the end.

"Do it." Face's voice didn't sound like his. He couldn't remember making the decision to speak, but the words fell between them, hollow and distant, betraying his secrets. "I can't beat this. You know that. That's why you're here, right? You've seen it."

"I'm here because Face is my best friend, and because I made a promise." Murdock nodded fractionally as he spoke; confirmation, agreement, and lifeline, all in one. Nothing he said was louder than the click of the hammer cocking back. "I'm sorry for letting the monsters get you."

Face closed his eyes. Tears he hadn't expected warmed streaks down his cheeks as his body shook.

"See you on the other side," Murdock's voice was low and choked.

That was it. It would only hurt for a moment, and then everything would be gone. Face wasn't expecting Murdock to add, "God forgive me", but he did.

His words echoed off the walls of heaven and earth, reaching from the caverns of hell to God's almighty ear. It was a moment that hung in the air and lasted a lifetime making it all too clear. There would be no forgiveness. Not for Murdock. No amount of rosaries to undo the bullet that was about to go through Face's brain and put an end to the misery. Murdock wouldn't miss. Murdock would pay his price. Face would finally find solace, at Murdock's expense. There would be no peace for him. Ever.

Murdock pulled the trigger.


	29. Chapter 29

He never heard the shot or saw the blood. Murdock had kept his eyes open, he owed Face that, but the things in his head; the chemicals and short circuits that made him different and crazy rewrote the truth. Instead of seeing the blood and gore he'd caused, Murdock's brain was trying to trick him. A complete and whole Face was standing in front of him, hand on the cylinder of Murdock's revolver, keeping it from firing. Face's ghost was looking at Murdock with fractured pain and shock radiating out, threatening to burn him.

Murdock pulled back, jerking the weapon with him, creating space, not stopping until his back hit the wall. Fuck! Fuck, fuck, fuck! It wasn't supposed to be like this. Face was supposed to go to a Catholic version of heaven, not be stuck damn it! Murdock could feel the blood rushing and his heart pounding against his chest. Shit, he'd fucked up bad. Fucking Trace was laughing and the little girl was clapping her hands and giggling. They had a new friend. Another ghost Murdock had made.

He didn't want to see anymore, or hear the laughter of the damned any longer. He'd planned this. He knew what he had to do. Murdock knew he had to die. A death sentence for all of his crimes. Not like he could live after killing Face.

"I'm sorry Face. You were supposed to be completely dead, not like the others." One more worthless apology.

"Murdock!" Ghost Face yelled.

"I always could see the monster in you Face. A little bit like mine, but turned in on yourself." Face hurt himself, others only got caught up if they tried to stop him. Murdock's own monster would hurt anything it could grab. "By the time I got here, it was backwards. I could barely see Face in the monster."

"Murdock stop!" Face was standing there, frozen, not partaking in the celebration that the others were. Death hadn't dulled the intensity of his eyes, that was clear. "Put the gun down. I fucked up, I know, but don't do this. Just put the gun down and we'll figure out how to get through it."

"You should have gone to heaven Face. The monsters won." Murdock had to die, it was the only way to make the balance right and keep everyone safe. He had to do it, he had to figure out how to stop. How to let go. Putting the gun under his chin, he aimed for the brain-stem.

Face's eyes were fixed on the gun, watching closely. "They didn't win, Murdock. I'm not dead, you're just fucking crazy." Could ghosts get frustrated? "Just listen to me, please buddy. I can't do this without you."

For the second and last time Murdock pulled the trigger. Ghost Face was grabbing the gun in a tight grip and pulling it away. The bullet exploded from the chamber, this time deafeningly loud. Face's shoulder slammed into Murdock's with enough force to send pain down the nerves. The gun clattering to the ground.

Hallucinations couldn't touch you. They hurt and attacked with words and taunts; Face's go to game, but they didn't touch. Unless Murdock was dead too….

"I'm sorry I killed you, Face." The Face that was trapped in hell with Murdock was pushed in tight, pinning Murdock to the wall. "I love you. We lost you. I promised Face." Tears were hot and wet, rolling down his cheeks. You could still cry in hell. "I'm so sorry you're stuck in hell with me." Maybe he could make him understand, or maybe this was his true hell, trapped forever with the ghost of the best friend that he murdered.

"Me too." Ghost Face was weak, most of his weight leaning into Murdock. He was exhausted, even dead Murdock could see the strain wearing through him. Boney pale fingers found their way to either side of Murdock's face, blue eyes holding his brown and a world of words and emotions flying between them. "We're not dead, Murdock."

He wanted to believe that. He wanted to be alive. He wanted a chance, hope, and more than anything he wanted Face alive and whole. But there was Trace and the little girl and the Vietcong soldier and all the others laughing. "How can you tell?" He wanted an answer to that so bad he could taste it.

Face shook his head ever so slightly. "You didn't shoot me, Murdock." Something changed in Face's eyes that Murdock couldn't quite place. "I don't want to die, not like this."

"I don't want to be dead Facey, and I don't want you to be dead. But we can't let the monsters win. The stakes are too high." The truth was a harsh whisper almost like Murdock was afraid to say it. "I'm not safe without you Face, if my monster gets loose…."

"They didn't win, Murdock. And I'm not going to let yours win either." Face's eyes were searching him, looking for some sort of understanding. "Please just trust me."

There was nothing but truth and Face in that. The Real Face. Adrenaline rushed out of him, leaving Murdock weak and shaking. Murdock bent his head until he and Face were forehead to forehead. Murdock's shaking hand was on the back of Face's neck. "I trust you. Always have."

The crack of wood splintering echoed through the small cabin as the door came off the hinges, crashing to the ground. Neither Murdock nor Face moved out of that moment. Hannibal coming through the door, gun drawn, Cruiser a step behind him, kicking Murdock's further away from them, and BA sad and shaking his head at the scene in front of him.

Murdock could barely hear Face over the commotion in the room. "No regrets."

The team was here, they were alive and Real Face back. He was broken, but back. For the first time in a long, long time Murdock knew he was safe. "No regrets." God help them all, Murdock meant that.

XXXXX

Hannibal was running. He didn't waste time thinking about how. His body took over, legs moving, mind focused solely on the cabin he was running for. Fear, icey and cold was squeezing at his chest, trying to distract him. He ignored it. The men in the cabin needed him, securing their safety was the only goal and focus.

Mind racing faster than his feet Hannibal sorted information, rapid fire, in the seconds it took him to get to the cabin. Gun? It had to be Murdock who had it. Face had nothing. Murdock burned everything Face brought to try and keep him clean.

The cabin door was locked. Hannibal stopped breathing. Everything slowed down to half speed. It was like watching highlight reels. Everything moving in clear snapshots. BA moving in, large shoulder slamming into the door frame. The broken door and splinters floating, suspended in time, in the air before landing on the floor.

He was in the cabin, scanning the area, looking and knowing what he would find would change everything. Which one of his boys was dead? How long would the other last? Through the light haze and smell of gun smoke Hannibal spotted them in the the corner of the room. It took him far too long to process the details.

Too men, upright, no blood, no obvious injuries. In fact the two of them were resting their foreheads against each other, talking low. Exactly like they did in Vietnam when one of them was having a nightmare, or one of them was thinking of being extra special stupid and needed a reason not to.

The tightness that made it hard to think or inhale was gone so fast it had Hannibal having to think about how to remain upright. They were both alive. Son of a bitch, I almost lost them...

"They okay man." It was BA's heavy hand on his back and quiet words that had Hannibal's mind kicking into gear. BA was right.

Hannibal nodded his thanks. It was a reminder of how badly Hannibal had missed the rest of his team. They didn't need to be told what to do, they did it, each one knowing what the other could and would do.

That's why Cruiser was re holstering his gun. He'd drawn it because he knew BA, like Hannibal, wouldn't be able to pull the trigger on Face or Murdock, even if it had to be done. Cruiser would, and he would carry it with him without ever saying a word.

A new realization hit Hannibal hard and swift.

He needed his team every bit as much as they needed him. He was their commander, but the separation, the boundaries an officer should have were gone. With the type of war they'd been waging and how they'd done the things they needed to, was that any shock? No. But standing in an old cabin with a drug addicted con man, a mad man, and two other angry men who fought the prejudices they faced with fists instead of words, Hannibal knew it was forever different.

These were his mean, his team. His only team. He couldn't replace any of them. That's why they'd been struggling since Ray and Face had left. Whatever magic this team had, it couldn't be replicated. Others would come and go and fill needs and spots, but this, right here in the cabin was the heart and soul of it. As sure as he knew that, he also knew he would never command another team.

The Army didn't function like that and he be damned if he could see how it would work, but it was still fact. This was it, his team, his family.

"Clear, Colonel." Cruiser tucked Murdock's 38 revolver into his waistband.

Face and Murdock didn't move during the commotion. Eyes closed, they were lost to their own thoughts and silent language. It was their way of figuring out whatever they needed. By the time those two starting acknowledging the rest of the world again, they would finally be on the same page.

Hannibal dropped onto the kitchen chair and watched. For the moment he didn't have to do anything else. BA checked the cabin and then left to make sure the grounds were secure. Cruiser managed to check and tend to Face and Murdock without them seeming to notice. By the time he was finished BA was back and Murdock and Face were huddled in the corner, sound asleep.

At some point Hannibal had managed to light himself a cigar. He had a mouth full of smoke when BA yanked the blanket off one of the beds and dropped it over Face and Murdock. BA Barracus, baddest, angriest man in the Army was a Mom wrapped in a body made of steel. It had Hannibal smiling, blowing smoke up and away.

Hannibal lost track of what was going on and the next thing he knew a cup of black coffee was getting pushed in front of him and Cruiser was taking a seat. "You okay, man?"

"I thought they were dead." Truth was the only language Cruise understood.

Cruiser glanced over to the still forms, taking a slow sip of coffee himself. "They probably were."

"They do any permanent damage with the gun?"

"To themselves, no. The cabin on the other hand. . . ." Cruiser shrugged, the bullet holes didn't stand out amidst the rest of the decor. "They're malnourished as shit, but other than some superficial soft tissue injuries they're fine."

His men were fine and together, and he was exhausted. "One's a drug addict and the other one is as crazy as a shit house rat." More truth.

"Yup." Cruiser agreed, letting the silence sit for a moment. "And BA's the wrong color, you're an adrenaline junkie, and I'm one fight away from a my own court martial." He just looked at Hannibal with a raised brow. Facts were facts. "Or one's the best pilot we've ever had and the other is the best supply officer around." Still facts.

"I almost lost them, Danial." It was the hardest thing he'd ever had to say. They'd been this close to disaster. "I still might." They weren't out of the woods yet, they'd only added hope.

"You've lost men before and it's never been for a lack of trying to save them." There was only so much Hannibal could do. They all had their limits, even if no one wanted to admit to them.

"You're not just men. You're family." The truth and damned if that didn't change everything.

Cruiser leaned back in the chair, nursing the coffee and contemplating. Hannibal had read his file, family was a broadly defined term when it came down to it. "I think that just makes the failures hurt more, Colonel."

As usual Cruiser cut right to the point. "It makes it Goddamned terrifying. More so because there's a damn good chance one of my orders will get you killed. " That was at the heart of why enlisted and officers weren't supposed to fraternize.

"You could always retire, become a civilian and sell spatulas for a living." It wasn't an option, but it did solve the problem. Cruiser looked at him, holding his gaze for a moment. "We're the best there is because we're not just another unit. But that comes with a price, and I think it's one everyone in this room is willing to accept. There's no team and there's no missions without a commander willing to shoulder that burden, but you can't let it paralyze you."

"I'm not paralyzed, son." Hannibal was smiling, dropping a hand on Cruiser's shoulder. Leave it to Cruiser to put things in perspective "But I am damn exhausted."

"Unless you were looking to sleep in a corner too, I'd suggest the empty beds." Setting his coffee cup down, Cruiser's smile dropped a notch. "Get some rest. We'll figure things out tomorrow."

It was all he needed. Nodding slowly Hannibal snuffed out his cigar and pushed himself out of his chair, heading for the bed. The tension, pain and worry was pushed aside by the deep need to sleep, a need Hannibal had been denying for too long. Hannibal was asleep before his body hit the worn out. BA and Cruiser were here, Murdock and Face had made the kind of connection that only made sense to them. His team was safe, he could sleep.


	30. Epilogue

Face let his back rest against one of the wood logs that had been pulled into a circle. With the sun setting it was the last of the warm rays he was going to get for the day. Eyes closed he let the calm of it wash over him. It had been months since he'd simply rested and let the moment be. He wasn't one to take pleasure in the sounds of nature and he preferred the crashing of rolling waves and the ocean air over the crackling fire, chirping crickets, and frogs croaking out their twilight serenade, but he'd take it.

The sun felt better against his skin than he remembered. That bone deep warmth that soothed his soul and stilled his world. It was part of what had been absent these past few months. He'd found it as a kid by sneaking out of the orphanage and running to the ocean shore, sitting in the beach grass watching as the sun set, taking with it it's warmth and peace. Later on he'd shared that time with few; a blanket, a girl - Kimberly Rillion and he had kept each other warm into the wee hours of the night more than once, but never anyone else. Those ocean waves powerful and soft in the backdrop. He'd been enamored by it.

"Hey!" Cruiser's voice brought him back to the present. "You're going three alarms there."

Sure enough, the marshmallow on the end of his stick was well beyond the golden brown he wanted, engulfed in charing flames instead. Shit. He flicked his wrist, trying to get the flame to go out while not sending the thing flying, but it was pointless, finally he just flung the thing off the end of the stick and into the fire pit.

"I'm no expert but I don't think that's the most efficient way to roast marshmallows." Hannibal sat down next to him smiling. "Then again I could be wrong. It wouldn't be the first time."

"Yeah," Face agreed, "My technique could use some refining." In the time it had taken Murdock to eat half a bag of marshmallows on his own, Face had managed to eat one and burn two. "I may need to hire out."

Murdock grabbed the stick from Face's hands and smiled. "I got your six Face."

With that he slipped off to the far side of the fire and the special spot he had found. He swore it was perfect for the right degree of marshmallow tan.

There was still too much silence and too much tension in Murdock, but the brittle, sharp edges were fading. It was good to see.

"How you holding up kid?" Hannibal's voice cut into his thoughts.

"I'm better." It had been a long couple of weeks, but the cold sweats and stomach cramps that had doubled him over had finally eased up. "The cravings are still pretty bad though."

"The mental part is harder than the physical. You still have a long road ahead."

"Yeah." He watched the flames dancing around the logs, consuming the fuel, cracking a popping with life. "Take it day by day I guess." It was the only option out there. He glanced over at Murdock, turning the marshmallow slow and steady, getting it just right.

Hannibal's hand was on his shoulder. "You won't have to do it alone."

Face dropped his head, forearms resting on his knees. He was more at home in these woods with people he'd known for less than a year than he'd ever been. It was foreign and subtly comforting in a way he'd never let himself feel. "I don't think I can."

Face nodded. He was starting to understand that in ways he couldn't quite articulate. But Hannibal was right and Murdock was all the proof Face would ever need for that. The pilot was sick, just as sick as Face was, maybe even more so. Somehow the only way either of them was going to survive their cancer was in union. "I always thought it was my only choice, you know? It almost killed us."

"For a few minutes I thought it had killed you."

Face looked back at Hannibal. "I should have told you I didn't want the discharge."

Hannibal nodded. "I should have asked you. We learned our lessons the hard way."

He meant it. Face had learned long ago in life about forgiveness, but it normally came with disappointment or some other strings attached. Hannibal meant it and there was nothing else there. They'd made mistakes, they'd paid the prices. It was done and over. Almost. "What about Murdock?"

"He's crazy, but stable." Hannibal moved his hand, taking the cigar out of his mouth. "Whatever you choose to do, he's going to be there."

"No," Face shook his head, it wasn't as simple as that. "He needs to fly and I can't leave the state right now."

"I'm not leaving the states without you." Murdock held two perfectly golden brown marshmallows out to Face.

Hannibal cut in before Face could talk sense into Murdock. "I'm not either."

BA added, "Ain't none of us leave you fool asses. Got it, Jack?"

Face looked around the group of them, each in turn, finally landing on Murdock. "You can't give up flying for me." Before he could protest it Face turned his attention back to Hannibal. Out of all of them he should understand. "I have a court date in a few weeks and my only goal right now is to get through the day without shooting up. You can't put life on hold because of me."

"It's not on hold, Face." Cruiser's steady voice cut through the uproar of the conversation. "But we're a team and it doesn't function without you." Cruiser shrugged, flicking the ash from his smoke towards the fire pit. "So you get your shit together and afterwards we all figure out what happens next. It's not on you, it's on us."

Once again Hannibal nodded. "He's right kid. Do you need a hand with your case?"

Face took the stick Murdock was holding out to him, perfectly roasted marshmallow in place. "There's no case to be made Hannibal, I'm guilty. It's whatever the judge wants to throw at me and it's not like I've got a stellar record to play up in my defense." He really didn't want to go back to jail. Even the thought of it made him want to curl up in a ball and ignore everything until it all went away. It wouldn't help and Face knew it, but damned if ignoring reality wasn't an alluring alternative.

"Then I'll visit you in jail and be waiting for you when you get out." Murdock was smiling. A calm, sure, smile. Not crazy - at least not showing the crazy.

"Yeah, I'd like to avoid that option if possible."

"Then fight it." Murdock shrugged. "One thing you're good at is getting in and out of trouble."

Face took a bite of the sugary mess. Murdock was half right. "You know last time I was in a courtroom Mother Superior begged the judge to lock me up." Face looked between Murdock and Hannibal. "Turns out there's no shucking and jiving around a nun's testimony." Turning his attention to Hannibal, he didn't bother to try to hide the worry. "How tied do you think my hands are on this?"

"Depends. I know if you're clean and looking to join up they'll drop the charges. If not then it's showing contrition and that you're a low risk of re-offending."

Proving he was a low risk for re-offending would be more difficult but there was no way he'd pass a physical agility test right now. "I hadn't thought of enlisting again."

"Don't enlist." Hannibal's voice was steady and sure. "Become an officer. I need an XO."

A laugh escaped Face before he could stop it. "An officer, seriously?" Looking at Hannibal was all he needed to answer that. "You are serious." Could he even? OCS was for people with a plan and goals. For people like Hannibal. But Hannibal was the best there was; he commanded troops like no other CO Face had served under. Like any of them had served under and now he was staring Face in the eye asking him to become his XO and all Face could do was stare back.

"Yes."

"You less of a fool than any other officer." BA didn't even look up from the radio he was tinkering with.

"Yeah?" There was awe in his voice. "You promise not to hit me if I wind up with some bars on my collar?"

"No."

"Don't worry Face, he never hit me." Murdock offered. "Of course he couldn't catch me… so there's that."

"What are you going to do, Murdock?"

"Depends." Murdock swallowed another marshmallow. "If you go for OCS then I'm joining the army. They need chopper pilots. If not, I'm gonna stay here with you."

"You still seeing Trace?"

Murdock just smiled that crazy smile at him. "Trace? Nah, he's dead. Seeing dead people would be crazy."

Nodding, Face considered it. For the first time in far too long, possibly ever, he had options. Real options. He'd spent his entire life running away from things instead of to them. It was time to change that. "I'll talk to the DA, see what I can work out." He looked over at Hannibal. "You up to being a character witness if I need one?"

"I'll be there. We all will."

Face sat back again, looking around the group of men. His team - his family, all here side by side. Each nodding their heads, speaking and thinking as one. He was home. He could feel it in the calm center he'd finally found and see it in the stillness of everyone else. They were home as long as they were together.

August 2011 - May 2016

Thank you to everyone who has taken this journey with us. It has been five years of fun and enjoyment. This book has seen children born, loved ones lost, location moves, career changes, returns to school, and the rigors of real life and the added chaos of a cowritten body of works from opposite sides of the nation. This is the first book of many that have been outlined, so keep your eyes out in the coming months for the next book in the series.


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